


Being Married to Molly Holmes

by KendraPendragon



Series: Victorian!AU [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But mostly porn, F/M, First Time, Learning About Sex, Making Love, Oral Sex, Sexual exploration, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Victorian!AU, all the smutty goodness, defloration, married, molly being insatiable, petting, porn with plot (eventually), sherlock being in love, sherlock being insatiable, they waited so long they deserve it, will they ever get out of bed?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: Part III of my Victorian!AU. Now that they are finally married, Sherlock and Molly consumate their marriage and explore their sexuality.





	1. I am yours and you are mine

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Part III is on the road! It's the part where I have no idea where things are going. Sherlock and Molly must tell me. Until then I let them have as much sex as possible. I hope you won't be disappointed after waiting for so long!

The bedroom is lit by a cracking fire. Sherlock gently closes the door. He looks at his bride standing by the bed and his heart skips a beat as he watches the light of the fire dance in her hair and on the tip of her nose.   
It is silly, but suddenly he becomes fully aware of what they will do in a few minutes. Nothing to hold them back anymore. Forbidden before, now a duty. Society is bizarre, indeed.  
  
With a fast beating heart Sherlock goes to her and takes her little hand in his, looking at it for a long moment, feeling her skin beneath his fingertips. He's not nervous, he sternly tells himself, but he fears he might be. He's never been with a virgin before and the worst thing would be to hurt her - even though it is inevitable. He hates this. Why does nature do this? What even is a hymen for?! There is no physical use, it has only enabled men to sexually suppress and shame women, this little piece of skin.   
Sherlock takes a deep breath and lifts her hand to his face, kisses her palm and presses it against his cheek. The warmth of her soft skin is so very comforting. His eyes fall close. He wants to feel more. All of her. Skin against skin, flesh against flesh. He wants to taste every inch of her with his mouth. He wants to bury himself in her, despite the pain it will cause her, and he feels ashamed.

Nothing but an egoistic, instinct driven animal, that's all he is. But she, she is a goddess, all purity and innocence.

With his eyes closed he lets his lips wander to her wrist and presses a gentle kiss to it. Her blood is rushing fast and strong beneath her delicate skin and his eyes drift open to find hers. They are big and dark, her lips parted. Her bosom rises and falls quickly.   
"Are you nervous?"   
"A little", Molly confesses with a shy smile.   
He presses another lingering kiss to her wrist, full of love.   
"My darling...if you need more time, we will wait. We can just go to bed and share our first night as husband and wife by holding each other."  
Molly looks up at him for a long moment, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb.  
"You are the most wonderful man", she whispers as she closes the distance between them. He takes her in his arms and they melt together for a long, deep kiss.   
"I don't want to wait. We've waited almost five years. I'm ready for you, I have been for a long time."   
His breath stutters at these words that send a rush of heat into his groin,.  
"I want to make love to you, feel your weight on top of me. I dreamt of this so many, many nights. I want to be yours in every possible way. And I want you to be mine. I want to know your body as well as I know your heart."  
"Molly."  
He palms her face and kisses her again, his tongue passionately entering her mouth, stroking and teasing her tongue just as she has teased him with her words. She could drive him insane, he just knows it. It only makes him love her more.   
  
They look into each other's eyes after they parted, both smiling reassuringly. Then Molly bites her bottom lip and her hands rise to her throat. His heart skips a beat as he watches her undo the first three buttons of her blouse, his mind wandering back to the day at Wimpole Street. It feels as intimate to watch her undress now as it has back then. His eyes follow her nimble little fingers until they reach the middle of her chest, exposing the white corset underneath. Swallowing hard, Sherlock looks up. Molly's eyes are aglow with warmth, but the rest of her expression states insecurity.   
So Sherlock leans in, kisses her gently, and catches her hands. He pulls them away and, resting his forehead against hers, he continues her task. Molly lets out a breath. With every button he frees her breathing flattens a bit more, her chest rises and falls more quickly. When he reaches the waistband of her skirt he places another soothing kiss on her lips before he pulls out her blouse, very careful not to frighten her.   
Unnecessarily so, of course. Molly is brave and strong, she even looks up into his eyes as he gently pushes the blouse down her shoulders and Sherlock shivers at the intensity of her gaze, being aroused and hesitant at the same time. The white linen falls onto the carpet behind her and after one more look into her eyes, he gazes down to untie her corset.   
"I hate corsets", he states hoarsely, as he has done before. "There is aboslutely no need for them."  
"It's fashion, Sherlock. Fashion has nothing to do with needs. You as the more fashionable person out of the two of us and should now that. I think I saw over twenty waistcoats in your closet."  
He chuckles, pulling lace after lace after lace.   
"At least a waistcoat is unbuttoned within seconds. This is taking forever", he complains and she giggles.   
"You're doing very well. You've almost got half of it."  
He huffs in annoyance - until her lips press against his and her tongue slips between his teeth. Fingers stilling, he kisses her, his knees weakening from the sensual movements of her little smooth tounge.   
"You're not working", Molly scolds against his lips, tapping his hand with one index finger. Sherlock smiles against her mouth and spears her with his tongue, letting out a hungry little moan. His fingers set to work again, more quickly now, rougher, causing her upper body to sway.   
A few seconds later Sherlock feels her fingers on his waistcoat, pushing the black buttons through the silk holes one by one. As predicted, she finishes before him, so her fingers wander up to untie his cravat to get to the buttons of his white shirt. They pause when Sherlock finally pulled the lace through the last hole. The corset slides down her hips and falls to the ground, revealing her white sleeveless chemise.   
Sherlock's lips part as he sees the thin linen in the light of the fireplace. It lies so softly on her pale skin...he can almost see her peaks shining through. Daring not to touch her small but round, and apparently brim, breasts - even though he wants nothing more - Sherlock waits until Molly has finished unbuttoning his shirt. In one elegant movement she pulls all clothing on his upper body down in one movement. They fall - and trap his wrists.   
Both of them laugh. Neither of them thought about the cufflinks.   
"I'm sorry", Molly giggles, her cheeks flushing. Sherlock just shakes his head and turns around so she can pull these blasted clothes back up again.   
"It's my fault. I was distracted."  
"By what?" she asks cheekily from behind him before she bites her bottom lip in concentration as she pulls his shirt back up. They struggle for many seconds, both of them frustrated by the time Sherlock can finally reach the blasted golden cufflinks. Quickly he undoes them, dropping one after the other, not giving a damn. Then he shrugs off the uncomfortable weight of his shirt and waistcoat, his insides urging him to get naked.   
Molly's eyes are drinking him in and with just her hungry looks his cock swells to half-attention.   
  
He takes her in his arms and kisses her, intending to be gentle but turning hungry soon. Their tongues are diving deep and fast, stroking and tangling passionately. Sherlock pants against her lips, barely able to breathe, and buries his face in her neck. There he kisses, sucks and licks, basking in pride and delight when his wife moans and digs her short nails into his bare shoulder blades. The taste of her skin and her scent are so deliciously female. It has his head spinning and his blood boiling and by panting her name he hastily shimmies down the grey skirt and the white underskirt, sinking to his knees in front of her. As soon as she steps out of them her slings his arms around her middle, burying his face in her belly, the linen of her chemise a thin but merciless barrier between their bodies.   
"Sherlock", Molly pants, her hands weaving through his hair eagerly, her fingers pulling at his hair, neck and shoulders. That she is as desperate for him as he is for her reminds him of how he lost his head before and his vow to never let it happen again.   
"No, Molly", he pants and groans from sheer arousal when she pulls at his hair once more, demanding his care and love and passion.   
"I'm too hungry for you. Give me a moment to calm myself...just a moment...my love, my darling...I want to be gentle and patient and shower you with love and tenderness."  
He looks up at her then, finds her cheeks pink, her lips parted and her eyes burning with desire.   
"You are my wife, my heart, and I want to do this right. I want to show you how much I love you. There are no words to describe the tenderness in my heart for you, but maybe I can show you. I want to take my time, I want us to enjoy each other with our senses hightened, but not clouded with lust. Lust will come later, I know it will. But tonight, our first night as husband and wife...I want love."  
Tears are pricking in her eyes and she sinks to the ground in front of him. They embrace, hold each other tight, her face against his throat, his cheek on top of her hair. Time is ticking away, only the cracking fire and their calming breaths filling their bedroom with noise. Molly is so warm, so soft, curving against him so perfectly. Sherlock enjoys it, revels in it. It comfort him, calms him.

She is his. He is hers. Forever.

It takes several minutes, but then he feels calm enough. Carefully he begins to pull the pins out of her hair, destroying the updo to let the long hazelnut silk cascade over her back. Pressing her to him with one hand on her back, he leans forward to place the pins onto the nightstand. Now that both hands are free he weaves them through the thick, incredibly soft strands.   
"I love your hair. It's so beautiful. It quite took my breath away the first time I saw it dancing in the wind, free and untamed. You were the pirate queen Captain Skullface, I believe", he smiles and fondly thinks back to this wonderful day, another play for their goddaughter. Molly smiles back at him, her fingers gingerly wandering up and down his spine.   
"So that's what your look meant. Back then I thought you were appalled that I opened it in your presence."  
"I was appalled", he grinned, "how much it aroused me to see you like this...so wild."  
While he inwardly punches himself for not realising sooner how very much in love he was with this woman, he allows himself the pleasure to arrange her hair so that two thick strands fall down her front on each side of her face.   
"A nymph, indeed", he smiles and looks down. Her hair is so thick, completely covering her breasts and her lap, where the strands meet and pool.   
  
Only with thumb and index finger he caresses a small strand, enjoying the texture against his skin. Gathering a bit more of her hair, he lifts it to his face, brushing his lips over it, pushing his nose against it to breathe in the familiar and comforting jasmine scent. His inhalation ends abruptly when he sees Molly's hand slip beneath the hair - and pull the strap of her chemise down her shoulder. The strand slips through his fingers and his hand falls to his side. His eyes feel hot as well as his chest as he watches her pull the other strap down. His lips part, his mouth runs dry. Gazing up at him, Molly pulls at the linen. Sherlock's entire body tenses as she reveales her body to him in such a beautiful, sensual way.

A nymph. Definitely.

_His_ nymph.  
  
She pulls the linen chemise down to her hips as far as possible. Sherlock's eyes are glued to her heaving chest, to her hair hiding her breasts from him - until Molly brushes it aside. His eyes dart up to hers, more of a social reflex than anything else. The warmth and longing in these dark pools are mesmerizing. She brushes the other strand off her shoulder, as well, and lets her hands sink to her waist. And then she waits with soft eyes and parted lips for her husband to find his bravery.

He gulps.

His hands are tingling with such need to touch her, his blood is flowing hotly through his veins, getting pumped into his cock. It is fully erect now; ready and eager to serve, to claim, to please. This is so intense, Sherlock thinks desperately, already he is so goddamn aroused. How will he ever remain calm, live up to his previous words?   
One more look into her beloved face tells him how: With love. The love for her will help him be gentle. Her beautiful face will remind him that he would rather die than hurt her again. Just one more moment, he tells himself, one deep breath to brace himself, to place his mind above his body and chain his instincts.   
  
His wife, though, is impatient. As bold as always, she takes his hand in both of hers - and places his palm on her cheek. Sherlock smiles softy, lets his thumb stroke her warm skin. This smile dies, however, when Molly pulls on his wrist, making his hand slide down her throat. His lips part. His breathing flattens. The texture of her skin, dear Lord. Warm. Soft. So very soft.   
Blinking rapidly, his eyes follow the path of his hand south. His heart is thundering in his chest and a part of him is on the brink of panic, too afraid to lose control, but he doesn't stop her; can't stop her. The skin beneath his fingers and his palm just feels too good. So very, very good.   
Just when he thinks how wonderful it is that she is the one guiding his hand, she halts it; right between her breasts. Her arms sink once more and he can see-  
  
Sherlock's mouth fills with so much saliva that he has to swallow. The sight of her brimming breasts drains every thought of worry for control from his brain. Her heartbeat is drumming against his hand. She is so very beautiful...  
Slowly, savouring each inch of her warm skin underneath his sensitive fingertips, they climb up the hill of her left breast. She inhales a breath and at a glance he sees that her eyes have drifted close.   
Her breasts are so hot, he can't help but think. He doesn't remember the other breasts he has touched being so very warm, the skin being so very soft. Then again, he hadn't paid much attention back then. It had been about fucking his lust out of his body. This is about making love to his fascinating wife, about learning her body and to give it pleasure.   
  
Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth he lets his fingertips wander to the summit of her breast, where the rosewood nipple has already risen, is waiting for him. A gasp escapes Molly when his middle finger touches it, gently starts rubbing the hard little nub, circles it slowly before it drifts outward to circle the hardened tissue of her areola. Molly twitches and gasps and Sherlock looks at her face when he cups her mound with his palm, squeezing it, holding it, squeezing it again. Oh, this is just marvelous, he can't help but think with pure adoration. His other hand follows the example of the first and Molly lets out a moan. Her head tilts back and without thinking Sherlock leans in and sucks at her exposed throat as he moves his hands to frame her sweet breasts so he can thumb both nipples simultaneously. His wife lets out a tiny squeal, her entire body jerks and her arms fly around his shoulders to hug him closer.   
"Sherlock", she pleads.   
With a moan against her throat he wraps his strong arms around her and lifts her to a standing position. Rather hastily he frees them both of the rest of their clothes. When he straightens after he stepped out of his trousers, he finds her eyes on his erect cock, wide and staring with parted lips. Before she can get scared by his masculinity, he turns away from her to turn down the bed. Then he gently lies her across it and follows, lying down beside her, slinging an arm around her waist. He kisses her deep and slow, his hand cupping her breast, massaging it. He is already in love with her mounds and he just knows he will spend many, many hours of his future life fondling and caressing them.  
"Are you all right, darling?" he whispers softly after they part, looking down at her, his elbow next to her shoulder, his hand gently stroking her hair.   
"Very", she smiles and her hand covers the one which is massaging her breast.   
"Do you enjoy this?" he asks, almost shyly, feeling like a green boy.   
Even though it isn't, in many ways this feels like his first time. He hasn't tried to please the other women he had been with. The wench had ordered him around, had guided his hands and his mouth here and there and he had obliged most begrudgingly.   
Molly bites her lips.   
"I like...this...", his darling wife moves his hand so it frames her breast and his thumb lies on her nipple. Immediately, Sherlock rubs it, circles it. It's like a reflex. Molly gasps and twitches. "Too hard?"  
"No...it's just intense."  
He plays with her rosewood nipple blindly, his eyes glued to Molly's flushed face. Lust is reflected in her expression and his cock twitches with desire. She's so bloody beautiful.   
"Sherlock, Sherlock!"  
Her hand pushes his away suddenly and she squirms, her legs opening wide for one moment. It almost drives him insane. Molly moans against her firmly closed mouth and rolls her hips.

_Jesus Christ!_  
  
Another moment where she is frozen into position, only her chest heaving, then she relaxes back into the mattress and opens her eyes, letting out a breath.   
"That was close."  
Sherlock frowns when he understands.  
"Why are you denying yourself release? Is it because of me? Molly, you know how much I love seeing you fall apart in my arms..."  
She smiles at him and her hand brushes up his arm to curl around his shoulder. Then her fingers slide down to his clavicle, wandering back and forth, sending goosebumps down his back.   
"It's just", she says hesitatingly, the smile fading, "I...what if I cry again? I don't want to ruin this wonderful night. At least not before...we've become one...I know it scares and hurts you and I don't want to do that to you."  
He leans down to her, the love for this petite angel overflowing, and kisses her as tenderly as he can, his thumb caressing her cheekbone as he parts her lips with his tongue and lets it slide over hers, stroking it gently.   
When he leans back, their gazes find each other. Since Sherlock's hand is still cupping her cheek, Molly curls her fingers around his wrist to stroke up and down his forearm.   
"I...I talked to John about it...and to Mary..."  
Sherlock blinks. Now his cheeks flush, too.   
"Actually...I talked to John, too."  
Molly's eyes widen. "When?"  
"Last Wednesday. You?"  
"Yesterday. He never said a thing."  
"That must have been amusing for him", Sherlock growls, imagining the smug smile on his friend's face.   
"I'm sure he just wanted to help. What did he say to you?"  
"Well, he spent about fifteen minutes scolding me for taking such liberties with you and explaining to me why it was highly immoral."  
"And why was it?"  
Sherlock shrugs. "Don't know. Stopped listening after two minutes."  
Molly laughs and shakes her head. Her husband smiles down at her.   
"What did he say to you?"  
"He said he's never heard of such a thing and after I ensured him that I had been in no physical pain or," and here she giggles, "moral affliction," Sherlock rolls his eyes, "that it might just be the heat of the moment. An orgasm can be intense for body and mind. He adviced me to stay abstinent for another year."  
"WHAT?! I will kill that man!"  
Molly laughs. "I was joking."  
Sherlock looks down at his snickering wife and growls as he leans down and sucks hard on her throat to punish her.   
"Noo, you will leave a mark. Stop."  
"Serves you right, little minx", he only growls and nips at her flesh, giving her a prominent love bite. She is moaning and arching against him by the time he lets her delicate skin plop out of his mouth. Then he presses a scolding kiss to her lips. Her arms fold behind his neck and she answers his firm kiss with an ever so soft one that within a minute he's forgiven her, holding her tight against him.   
"What were we talking about?" Sherlock breathes against her wet lips. Molly giggles.   
"About my crying."  
"Right", he clears his throat. "Did John say anthing helpful at all?"  
"Only that I shouldn't worry too much but talk to him if it keeps happening."  
"And what about Mary?"  
"She hasn't heard of this specific problem either," Sherlock sighs, "but she told me that right after climax Mary feels very emotional, too. She doesn't cry, but for several minutes she can't bear the thought of John moving away from her. She needs him close, can't let him go."  
"Do you feel the same?"  
Molly shakes her head. "No. It's just tears bursting out of me without any reason at all. I never felt physical pain, I didn't fear that you'd leave me or something like this. I've come to the conclusion that it must be my body's way to deal with the aftershocks of it all."  
"Hm...well, then I think there is nothing we can do about it for now. Further experimentation is required."  
She snorts.  
"You're cheeky."  
"I wasn't trying to be. What else can we do? If the alternative is abstinence, then I'd rather endure your tears...if that is what you want, of course."  
Molly strokes his cheek.   
"I know it horrifies you..."  
He pulls her closer.   
"Only because I'm afraid I hurt you. Just...promise me that if you ever are in any pain, slight discomfort even, or I do anything you do not want, you will always tell me immediately, no matter what is happening. You will never make yourself suffer because you think it will give me pleasure. Promise. I could not live with myself if I ever found out you did. Promise me, Molly. Now."  
The urgency in his tone and the intensity of his look make tears well up in her eyes.   
"I promise", she says softly and Sherlock blinks, his own eyes wet.   
"I love you so much, Molly mine", he whispers and kisses her.   
"I love you, too, Sherlock. I always have and I always will. 'Til death do us part'...and beyond."   
With trembling lips he buries his face between her breasts and pulls her as close to him as possible. Her hands wander into his hair and weave through it, soothing his inner turmoil.

To rest on her bare bosom is a wonderful feeling. To smell her feminine scent, to see her breast so close is soothing on a very primal level. It feels...right. He feels so safe in her arms, so loved and warm.   
"Molly?" he asks after they only listened to the cracking fire and their breathing for many minutes.   
"Yes, darling?"  
Her fingers scratch over his scalp and his eyes flutter close from the tremor it causes in his body.   
"I want to make you peak. As often as I can. I want to please you until you fall apart in my arms over and over again." His hand cups the breast in front of his eyes, squeezes it once before he lets all four fingertips brush over the soft rosewood nipple. As he continues, it rises and hardens. What a fascinating process to watch. "I want to drown in your taste and the feel of your skin. I want your moans and gasps droning in my ears, compose beautiful melodies with the noises you make when I make love to you...I think it will make the last step easier for both of us. You will be more relaxed, your body will be more willing to take me..."  
"Oh, darling", Molly replies, arching her chest against him, "it is willing. Always. My Sherlock..."  
He raises his head and their lips find each other for a passionate kiss.   
  
"Remember the promise you gave me?" Molly asks, her eyes dark as the moonless night. They have given each other so many promises over the past half year, yet he immediately knows which one she means. He smiles at her, his eyes a stormy grey, pupils fully blown, and rolls on top of her. They both let out a breath, feeling so much of the other for the first time.   
  
Sherlock begins fulfilling his promise by lowering his lips to her forhead.   
"I love you", he whispers, his mouth brushing over her skin as he speaks, and moves to the left.   
"I love you...I love you...I love you...I love you..."  
At her mouth he lingers, kisses, whispers and kisses again, dips his tongue into her mouth, teases hers, whispers again and moves on. Along her jaw. Down the left side of her throat. Up the right side and down again in the middle. Into the dip between her clavicles. Along her right clavicle, her shoulder, down the outside of her arm, the back of her hand, every knuckle, every finger, the thumb, against her palm, her wrist, up the inside of her arm, even her armpit although she protests with a giggling squeal. On every inch of her breast, against her alluring hard nipple, her ribcage, her soft belly, her hipbone, all the way down her creamy leg. As he lifts her feet she protests again.   
"Ticklish", she says.  
"But the promise, Molly. Every inch."  
"Your mouth will be of no use to me when I kicked your teeth out."  
"Not even the instep?" he asks, almost pouting, not noticing how his wife's eyes are glued to his still fully erect cock - to be fair, it's looking right back.   
"One on the instep, but that's it. I'll try my best not to harm your beautiful mouth."  
He gives her a sly grin. The hold on her foot tightens, yet she twitches when he presses his lips against her skin, whispering his love.   
"So, no sucking your toes", he sighs as he puts her foot back down.  
"Oh...do you like doing that?"  
"Don't know," he shrugs, "but I would have tried. Anthea loves it, so I assumed it would please you."  
"How on Earth do you- do I even want to know?"  
Sherlock chuckles, kneeling between her slightly spread legs, letting his eyes wander shamelessly over his wife's body, lingering on the triangle made out of curly brown hair.   
"My brother's wife is quite the chatterbox after she had two glasses of wine. She had a very unwilling confidant, I assure you. Yet, I delight in seeing Mycroft's sour face and Anthea's blushing cheeks every time I give them their wedding anniversary gift."  
"Oh, Sherlock."  
"What?! The foot soap comes straight from Paris. Every year a different scent."  
Molly giggles.   
"Your poor brother and sister-in-law."  
Sherlock snickers impishly.   
"Oh, they love it. I can just picture Mycroft at her feet, washing them with utter devotion."  
"What else might they do with their feet?"   
"Molly!"   
His naughty wife laughs, crosses her arms behind her head and lifts her foot. Sherlock lets out a surprised hiss when her toes nudge against the hot skin of his shaft. Reflexively, he catches her daring foot and pushes it away from him.   
"Is this your way of telling me that I should order two foot soaps next time?"  
She bites her lip.   
"As much as I love the idea of you washing my feet, I think it would end with the bowl thrown over, water everywhere and you on the floor, unconscious."  
Sherlock laughs and shakes his head.   
"Could I please get back to my task, Mrs. Holmes? I still have a lot of skin to cherish."  
"Of course, sir. Please forgive me."  
"Don't worry about it. As long you remain silent from now on."  
She glares at him and crinkles her nose, but says nothing.

Sherlock smiles, his chest warm and light, and lifts her leg to kiss the inside of her ankle, whispering 'I love you' against the delicate skin. He wanders up her leg slowly, his eyes darting to her fanny again and again. When the first whiff of her perfume fills his nose, he pauses, inhaling deeply.   
"Fuck", he groans and presses his open mouth into the inside of her thigh, his tongue flicking over her delicate skin fast and furiously in the way he wants to lick her fanny. And he will lick her like that; soon Not now, though. He will be gentle. He will be patient.   
Another deep breath, then Sherlock opens his eyes and notices how tense Molly's body is. Their eyes meet. Her chest is heaving. Her little hands are clawed into the sheets.   
"Later."   
It's not a question, yet she nods, her thighs and stomach muscles relaxing. She smiles gratefully when he presses a tender kiss to her knee, then wanders to the left to resume his task, leaving out the inside of her thigh, making a mental note to visit it later. He will fulfill his promises to her; always.   
Molly is back to arching her body as his lips are traveling up her torso and she lets out the most pleading little sound when he swears his love against her nipple. Yet, he moves on to caress the rest of chest, left clavice, shoulder, arm and hand with his lips. Reaching her wedding ring, he presses a lingering kiss to it. He completes his task - for the moment - with a firey kiss on her lips. Molly pierces his mouth with her tongue and pulls him to her roughly, her hands grabbing his hair. Sherlock shivers.   
Her thighs are open, spread oh so wide for him. With a groan he settles his hips between them, making her moan. Fearless as ever, his wife follows her instincts and rolls her hips. At the sudden contact of her hot wet flesh against his shaft he hisses loudly and his eyes and hand dart down. Almost desperatly he pushes her hip into the mattress and lifts himself off of her enough so that their sexes can't touch.   
"Are you trying to kill me?" he pants before he can think and Molly giggles. After he realises what he just said, he shakes his head and chuckles.   
"Be quiet, you insolent nymph."  
Molly looks up at him, biting her lip, her hands combing through his hair. A curl falls onto his forehead. She must have gotten rid of most of the pomade, then.   
"I love you", she says, still smirking.   
"Show me how much", he growls wolfishly and presses his lips to hers.

And she shows him. Oh boy, does she. By the time she is finished with him he is on the brink of madness. His lips are wet and swollen, his cheeks are hot and his toes are curled into the sheets.   
_  
Merciless nymph!_  
  
"I hope my message came across?"  
He narrows his eyes at her, focusing on the playfulness between them rather than the throbbing cock between his legs, demanding attention and entry into his wife's innermost.   
"Indeed, it did. I'd like to answer appropriately."  
"By all means."  
She pulls him down, expecting a kiss, but her mouth is not what he wants to kiss right now. Instead, he clasps his lips over her left nipple.   
"Oh God!"  
 _Oh yes_ , growls a wolfish voice inside him. While he sucks at her areola, his tongue flicks over her hardened nipple. Molly twitches, gasps and squeals beneath him, soon her entire body squirming, her little hands clawing at his shoulder.   
"God, you're so sensitive, Molly mine. I love it. I love it."  
"Sherlock!" It sounds like a protest.   
"No, darling. If you're not in pain, I will continue until I have driven you mad with want. Are you in pain? Is it too much?"  
She is panting and a few beads of sweat have spread on her throat and forehead, but she shakes her head.   
"Then let me have you, Molly. Your beautiful breasts, those sensitive nipples, begging for more..."  
With a growl he claims the right one now, testing if it's just as responsive to his caresses. Interestingly enough, no. Molly moans and arches, but those tiny little squeals of delight and those twitches of her body are not elicited neither through sucking, licking nor nipping at her right breast.   
"Both your breasts are delicious, darling," he growls as his lips wander through the valley between her breasts back to where they came from, "but I admit, I have found a favorite in the left."  
"No, no," Molly shakes her head weakly but already arches her back wantonly. Sherlock is more than happy to oblige her body's wishes.   
  
Not a minute later and Molly is dying the little death for the first time tonight, Sherlock's mouth firmly pressed into her breast, sucking her nipple hard and continuing to do so as she rides the waves of ecstasy in hopes to prolongue it. He moans, her writhing body so enticing, the fingers clawing at his hair sending shiver after shiver down his spine.   
His hands roam her smooth skin hungrily, covering as much of her as possible. Molly's melodic cries and sighs are music in his ears - until the first sob tears the divine melody apart.  
It's a dagger to his heart, like every other time, but he reminds himself that she is not in pain. He embraces her, pulls her gently against him, forces himself to look at her. He wants to watch over her when she cries so she is not alone in this.   
Her lips tremble, her eyes are squeezed shut, her throat is gulping again and again. When her face turns red, he realises that she is trying to suppress the tears...and is almost choking.  
"Molly, let go. I'm here. I will hold you. Let go, darling. It's fine. I understand...I will hold you."  
Another sob breaks out of her and she presses her hands on her face and rolls onto her side, curling up. Violently she cries and it hurts him so very deeply, but he's here, with her, for her. He will always be strong for her. He curls his body around her until there is no inch of air between them, both arms holding her while he places soothing kisses on her shoulder and neck before he whispers words of love into her ear.

  
Sherlock never stops until her tears have dried and she relaxes against his body. He relaxes, too, only just then realising how tense he was. This crying...it will need time to get used to. But he knows he will handle it better in the future.   
"I'm sorry", she whispers eventually. Sherlock immediately interlaces his fingers with hers now that she has removed them from her face.   
"Don't. I don't want you to aplogise for this. Never again. Please."  
She nods, then lets out a long sigh.  
"So, apparently the crying gets worse the better the climax was."  
After this emotional storm, Molly still finds a way to make him chuckle. How much he loves this woman.  
"I will take your tears as a compliment then", he smiles against her shoulder as he says this. "And if a day should come where you don't cry, I will throw myself out of the window. If I can't please you, I have nothing to live for."  
"The window is hardly big enough for you to throw yourself out of it."  
"For your information, Mrs. Holmes, I have climbed through this window more than once. It is big enough. It wouldn't be a glorious defenestration, I admit, but then again, when the time may come, although I hope it never will, we will live in Wimpole Street. With those large windows the defenestration will be a theatric spectacle, I assure you."  
Molly laughs, shakes her head and pulls his arms closer around her.   
"So you think you can keep me satisfied until we move, eh?"  
Sherlock inhales an affronted breath and Molly giggles cheekily. He bites into her shoulder.   
"Insolent creature. Trying to wound my male pride in such a pathetic attempt!"  
His lips move to her ear. "When you want me to put you to pieces once more, you only need to ask, my darling. It will be my pleasure...always."  
Molly bites her lip and turns around in his arms.   
"We haven't even consummated our marriage yet and already you get overconfident."  
  
Her husband smirks cheekily, boldly running his hand from her neck down the elegant curve of her spine...all the way to her bottom. A jolt of arousal rushes through him as he cups his wife's cheek...and squeezes it. Molly gasps.   
"We might have not consummated it yet, but I have put you to pieces several times, dearest."  
"Well, I can't deny that you have", she admits with a dreamy smile and places a hand on his chest. The arrogant smile on Sherlock's face dies when Molly starts playing with his fair chest hair. And his breathing stops when she pushes him onto his back, leans over him and places a shy kiss on his nipple.   
"You are so very beautiful, Sherlock", she whispers against his skin and kisses his chest again, then she rests her cheek on it and watches her hand play with his hair. Sherlock stares at the ceiling, trying to keep his eyes open. In the far back of his mind he feels the tight grip he has on the pretty little peach that is her arse. But most of his focus lies on her soft fingers tugging on his hair and the hot breath fluttering across his skin. The fingertips make him shiver as they explore his chest, clavicle, shoulder and arm. Hot trails do they leave on his skin and his blood rushes to his middle, his body's way to ready his cock for his beautiful wife. By the time her hand flattens on the skin underneath his belly button, his eyes are squeezed shut.  
"It...doesn't look like anything I've seen in paintings and sculptures."  
  
After a moment to collect himself, Sherlock clears his throat and forces his eyes open. He looks down himself, past his wife's head.   
"That's because it's erect, darling."  
"Does it hurt?"  
"No."  
"Does it feel good?"   
"Um...it's fine."  
Molly looks up at him. "It doesn't feel good?"  
"Does it feel good when you are wet?"  
"Sherlock!" Molly blushes and buries her face in his chest.  
"Does it?"  
"Well, not exactly. It's like a little ache between my legs."  
"It's the same for me."  
She gives a little nod, gnaws on her bottom lip, then she lifts up and presses a kiss to his lips.   
"I want to touch you, Sherlock. I want to put you to pieces, too."  
"God, Molly, you already are."  
He wraps his arms around her, presses her soft body against his hard chest and kisses her greedily. His hand is squeezing her breast and he's pushing against it to roll her onto her back when Molly stops him.   
"I want to touch you."  
Sherlock groans and rests his forehead against hers.   
"Darling, I'm not like you. When you put me to pieces, I need rest. But I want to make love to you."  
They share a long, deep kiss.   
"We have all night. I'm not going anywhere."  
He smiles and strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers.   
"That's right. You're mine."  
"Yes, I am", she smiles and pushes against his shoulder. With a sigh Sherlock rolls back onto his back.

Molly kisses his cheek, his lips and the little mole on the side of his throat. Then she sits up on her knees, lets a hand wander down his chest, her eyes following, until it reaches his middle. Sherlock gulps as Molly looks at his penis, tilting her head a little to inspect his testicles, as well. A minute or so passes in complete silence. Heat rises in his cheeks. To be inspected like this does make him uncomfortable, yet his cock remains hard, stands before her in a fashion of proud masculinity. He feels a bit ashamed about it and the longer she remains silent, he thinks she dislikes what she sees.   
"You do not have to do anything, Molly. It's fine. Very fine. Come here."  
She shakes her head, gnawing at her bottom lip.   
"I know very little about penises. I know the mechanics of the act, but other than that...", she sighs and shakes her head. Then she looks at him, her long hair falling over her back and down her front, framing her face.   
"Teach me. What do I need to know?"  
Sherlock's eyes widen, surprised by his wife's determination. On second thought, he really shouldn't be. Molly is curious, a scientist.   
"Since the little tug of our goddaughter had you go down like a felled tree, I assume you are sensitive there?"  
She looks at him, a cheeky little smile playing around her mouth.   
"Rosie almost tore it off", Sherlock defends himself and earns himself an amused giggle. He pinches her butt cheek. She squeals and jumps. Oh, he will do that more often, does he resolve.   
With curiositiy twinkling in her beautiful dark eyes, she looks at him now. Sherlock clears his throat and reaches for a pillow to shove under his head, partly to stall, partly to get over the embarrassing fact that apparently he will teach his wife all about cock. It feels frivolous, which it shouldn't. It is logical that he should teach her. How else will she learn? There should be no shame in this. On the contrary. Her determination is to be admired. He should be grateful that she wishes to understand, to please him. And he is. It will only make things between them easier, more relaxed, more enjoyable.   
  
"Well," he begins, his voice croaky. He clears his throat, "the...shaft is the least sensitive. You, eh, it can be touched and held quite firmly. The skin of the tip is a lot more sensitive and, um, is the major source of pleasure." He is blushing, he can feel it. Well, he does feel like an idiot pointing and explaining, despite all the reasoning he just did. "The testicles are the most sensitive, most vulnerable part."  
"No touching them. Got it."  
  
 _Oh, for the love of-_  
  
"Um, no, actually," he clears his throat as more heat rises, "y-you can. Just very carefully...with only little pressure."  
Her brows furrow, her eyes fixed on his stones for a moment as she processes his words.  
"Spread your legs. I can hardly see them."  
This woman has no mercy on him. Of course Sherlock obeys, more blood rushing to his middle and his face as she actually shifts and bends to inspect them more closely.   
"Why is the skin darker than on your penis?"  
"I have no idea."  
"Hm."  
Sherlock closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to relax his body. It doesn't work.   
"So when you say pressure...do you mean I can take them in my hand and...squeeze them?"  
Sherlock chuckles, even though the word is enough to make him feel ghost pain.   
"Squeezing would be too much. But you could take them in hand and lightly...rub them...or carefully tug at them _JesusChrist_ "  
His cock bobs just from the imagination.   
"Everything all right?"  
"Of course."  
His eyes glance up - and find her smirking at him.  
"Sherlock Holmes. How lecherous you are. I'm trying to learn the biology of your genitals and you are taking pleasure from it!"  
"If anything, speaking of these things is torture. I'm embarrassed, not lecherous. Remember who I am. Logical, cold. Wasn't that what you said to me once or twice?"  
Molly giggles.   
"That was a year ago. You've proven you're everything but cold. Quite warm...hot even..."  
Her soft hand wanders over his chest, her fingertips brushing his nipples.   
"Don't you think it's odd that men have nipples?" she asks out of the blue, her fingertips circling his left. "What do you need them for? There is no biological reason...or maybe at one point men were able to produce milk for the offspring, too."  
"Men with breasts?"  
Molly shrugs. "There is still so much we don't know."  
Sherlock chuckles; that is until her fingertip settles on top of his nipple and lightly brushes over it. His eyes fall close and his mouth opens. Observant Molly Holmes notices, of course.   
"Do you like that?"  
Sherlock forces his eyes open, doesn't manage completely.   
"Yes."  
Molly bends over and Sherlock holds his breath. His hand flutters to her shoulder, almost reflexively applying pressure. His wife ignores it, her hot breath hits his hard nipple and then all he can do is groan when she clamps her little mouth over it, sucking and licking.   
Sherlock pants her name, his nails dig into her skin, his cock bobs longingly. Her tongue sends a million little lightning bolts through his entire body. It flickers over his small nub, circles it, pushes into it. She shouldn't be able to do this so well, he thinks desperately, dizzy with pleasure.   
When her teeth graze his nipple he pushes hard against her shoulder, panting her name again. Their eyes meet and Molly holds his gaze as she moves over to his right, her long hair tickling his skin. Her little red tongue darts out of her mouth and Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut with a desperate gasp, overwhelmed with the lustful sight. Yet he moans and writhes as she pleasures his right nipple just as wonderfully. His hands wander into her hair, grasp it firmly, holding her in place, pulling her closer.   
  
Molly is a temptress, a nymph, the goddess of love herself. The pleasure she makes him feel only by doing this - it's already too much. His skin is burning, every sensation felt so intensely.   
The wench who had taken his virginity told him he is quite sensitive for a man. Despite many other things she had said that night which he had deleted, this has never left his brain. He feels the truth of it now. He shouldn't get so very aroused by Molly licking - sucking and nipping, Lord help him - his nipples, but damnit he does. His entire body is trembling with desire and need for his wife. A curious part of him wants to know if he could actually come from just this. Maybe one day he will ask her to participate in such an experiment. But not tonight. He needs more tonight. His cock is aching so badly by now. Sherlock wants Molly's hands on it. Her mouth, too, although he knows it would probably be too much - for both of them.   
A sudden jolt of pain makes him grunt. Molly's teeth.  
"Oh my God, I'm sorry Sherlock."  
"It's fine", he pants. With much effort he focuses his vision on her. Her eyes are big and frightened. Dearest woman...  
He cups her face and pulls her to him so he can kiss the fear out of her.   
"Molly, I...", another wave of shame. He can't ask her...but he's hurting. He needs her, his Molly, his wife. More than anything.   
His cheeks fill with heat and his chest tightens. It's not easy being weak, not even in front of her...or especially in front of her. He's not sure which.  
"Would you...?"  
Her eyes are staring right into his soul.  
"What?" she asks, her voice just a whisper, just like his.  
"...touch me?"  
Her eyebrows almost disappear into her hair. Sherlock feels stupid and presumptuous.   
"Sorry, I shouldn't...I-"  
"Stop."  
Molly has pressed a finger to his lips. When he looks at her - which is so bloody difficult - she removes it and strokes his cheek; so very gently.   
  
"I am your wife, Sherlock. I love you. More than anything I want to make you happy, in life as much as in here, our bedroom. I want to please you, admire and worship your beautiful body and heart. You shouldn't be embarrassed to ask anything of me. I don't want any distance between us. We are one, you and me, bound by love. I want to know you as well as myself. And I want to satisfy your needs, every single one. Just say the word. You can always ask. No pride or shame in here. Just us, souls as bare as our bodies. Our lust celebrated, not shamed. Let us be free in the privacy of our bedroom, I beg you. Ask me, always. And I shall ask you. And should one of us refuse to do something, we will always remember that it doesn't mean we love each other less. Promise."  
"...Only if you do the same."  
"I promise", she smiles. He smiles back, his heart much lighter. He promises her.  
  
Sherlock is stunned and deeply touched. What a brave wife he has. He does not deserve her. With a tender smile he tugs a strand of hair behind her ear, then he cups her cheek and strokes it with his thumb. He tells her that he loves her and she replies the same. They kiss, chaste at first, but soon Sherlock pulls her against him, places a hand at the back of her head and deepens the kiss. Lust sparks between them once again and by the time Sherlock finds his bravery, he is out of breath. He rests his forehead against hers, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before he looks at her. He wants to look at her, feels it the right thing to do.   
"Molly...will you touch me? Will you touch my cock?"  
Molly's bottom lip trembles as she lets out a shaky breath.   
"Yes," she breathes and they share another kiss. "Show me how, Sherlock. Teach me."  
Those words, in her voice - Sherlock groans and presses an urgent kiss to her lips. She smiles when they part; no mockery, just happiness. He smiles as well.   
  
"I can't believe we're doing this", he whispers, now all excitement. He trusts her, loves her, adores her. He take her hand and kisses her palm, nips at her fingers. Molly giggles and he smiles up at her. She is excited, too.   
They shift until she lies snuggled up against his side, her head on his chest. She looks at his erection, Sherlock guiding her hand down his body. Their fingers are interlaced. His heart is beating frantically. He gasps when their fingertips brush up his throbbing shaft. Forcing himself to be patient, he slowly wraps her little hand around it.   
"Like this, darling", he whispers into her hair and guides her hand up and down his length, the sight of both their hands on his cock is something he will never forget.

Molly's soft, warm palm wrapped around his cock - praise the Lord he doesn't believe in. A glorious feeling. The best feeling in the world. His head falls back onto the pillow when she applies pressure, gently at first, getting more confident from his reaction.   
"More", he pants, "please", he adds, remembering politeness. "Yes, yes. Oh, Molly..."  
His hand falls away and he hands himself over to his wife, lets her experiment on her own. She doesn't pause, not a second. Her curiosity is guiding her. Up and down, up and down, slowly. Her thumb stroking his skin. Sherlock is breathing hard.   
"Like satin over steel", Molly mumbles into his chest and through the thick fog of lust inside his head, he smiles when he processes her words; and places a kiss on the top of her head.   
"It feels so good, Molly", he whispers into her hair, unable to stop himself, "so very good. I've dreamt of this for so long. Every night since you kissed me. You make me so happy, my darling, my wife, my heart _ohGod_!"  
At the top of his cock she twists her hand and with a groan Sherlock's head falls back onto the pillow. Every single muscle in his body tenses for a second. He feels a drop of warmth and wetness run down his tip. Molly's hand stills. It takes him a moment to realise, being so high from all the pleasure. He forces his eyes open and gently strokes her shoulder.   
"E-Everything all right?" His voice is hoarse.  
Molly's fingers are wrapped around his base, holding him. It feels oddly comforting.   
"H-Have you climaxed, Sherlock?"  
"No. Why?"  
"Th-There is fluid."  
"Oh," he looks down, sees the clear drop of pre-ejaculate run down his tip, glistening in the light from the fireplace, "yes. This happens sometimes."  
"Is it sperm?"  
Her fingers start moving again. Sherlock clenches his jaw, his eyes flutter close. How is he supposed to have a conversation while she is doing this?!  
"I-I don't think so. It's clear, you see...and my sperm is not. It's white a-and...thicker."  
"I see...can I...?"  
Not finishing her question, Molly lets her fingers wander up his length. With a thundering heartbeat Sherlock watches the tip of her index finger dip into the little drop.  
  
"It's warm", she comments, but Sherlock hardly hears her. Most of his senses are focused on her hand. He doesn't notice the tight grip he has on her hair, doesn't hear his loud breathing. But he does see how Molly rubs his fluids between her fingers, inspects it for a moment. Without her warm hand Sherlock's cock is hurting. He needs her, hell, he needs to get some release or the tension in his body will tear him apart.   
"Molly, Molly, please", he urges, begs her.   
His wife looks up then and Sherlock slings his arms around her and pulls her up for a kiss. Desperately he tries to be gentle, but knows his kiss is too hard, too demanding. Yet, Molly meets it eagerly, her tongue greeting and stroking his just as passionately.   
"Show me, Sherlock. Show me what you need."  
With a guttural groan he presses her cheek onto his chest and takes her hand, wraps it around his shaft. Panting hard he watches himself using her hand to get himself off. He moves it fast and firmly over his tip, twists her wrist to get even more pleasure, more, more. He bends his knees and spreads them, moves her hand faster.

God, he is so close, so very close. Just a little more, a little more...  
  
When Molly grips him harder and starts fapping him on her own, Sherlock gasps loudly.   
"Yes, yes!"  
Pressing his open mouth against her forehead he watches, hell, what a sight, what a marvellous feeling. The orgasm is coming, his testicles tighten, as well as every muscle in his lower body. He can barely breathe, holds on to his wife like a drowning man. This is too intense, he thinks desperately, his eyes hot and dry from staring at Molly's hand fapping his cock, her fingers and palm slickened with pre-ejaculate. The sounds are obscene, his nails dig deep into her soft skin, yet she doesn't shy away, holds him even tighter. How much he loves her firm grip on his cock!   
  
"Molly, God, Molly!"  
  
Ecstasy rushes up his spine and explodes behind his eyes, blinding him. He shouts and squeezes his eyes shut as he falls down the white abbyss. His body is cramping, he can barely breathe, his hips jerk, thrusting his cock up into her hand again and again as he empties himself onto Molly's hand, his stomach and chest. This climax, Jesus, it won't stop. It's an eternity of purest bliss and agony.

  
Only when his stones are empty and his muscles relax does he breathe again. With a grunt he collapses onto the mattress, gasping for air. While his head clears only slowly, he faintly feels Molly's hand gingerly holding on to his cock. It feels wonderful, soothing, comforting...safe.   
He lifts his heavy arm and curls it around her shoulder again to press her against his side.   
"Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" he whispers against her forehead, unable to open his eyes, yet.   
"I'm very well. And you?"  
"Never better. It was wonderful. You're wonderful. Thank you, my darling. My beautiful bride...my Molly."  
Blindly he searches her lips. She finds his. His lips are trembling when he kisses her sweetly.   
"I need a moment, love. My brain isn't functioning properly...I'm not even sure if I'm saying this out loud or just thinking it."  
Her giggle confirms that he did speak. She snuggles closer against him.  
"It's fine. Rest. I'll hold you."  
A warm hand curls around his cock.  
"It's wonderful, Molly. Your little hand around my cock. Don't let go. Please. It feels so nice...I feel so safe with you holding me like this..."  
"Shhh", she silences his mindless babbling and he nods, resting his head on top of hers, breathing in her scent. He allows exhaustion to take him and drifts off, his mind flying between wake and sleep. The warmth of Molly's hand anchors him to reality.

 


	2. Making you mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consumation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it finally is. Hope you like it.

Most of the semen sticking to his skin has dried by the time he fully returns to the world, his eyes opening. Somehow his wife felt his return, for she tilts her head back to look at him. The smile on her lips is so tender his chest fills with warmth.  
"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes."  
He chuckles.  
"Thank you."  
With her smile widening, Molly lifts herself up on her elbow to loom over him. Sherlock strokes the elegant curve of her shoulder.  
"I loved it. Doing this. Pleasing you. Seeing you like this...", she shakes her head, "I haven't thought it possible, but you were even more beautiful lost in pleasure. So very beautiful."  
They look into each other's eyes, then Molly bends down and kisses him so deeply and thoroughly that his heart skips several beats. Only with this kiss she conveys so much of what she feels for him - it takes his breath away. He pulls her close, closer still, careful to not pull her into his half-dried semen. But Molly doesn't care, shows him by moving on top of him until her belly lies directly in it. Sherlock can't help the moan that escapes him. That she isn't disgusted by his sperm causes his cock to proudly twitch in her loose grip - which instantly tightens. He moans once more when she begins stroking him. Blood rushes through his middle and he grows and hardens quickly in her little hand. Molly breaks the kiss and looks down.  
"Fascinating", she mumbles.  
"No more experiments tonight, Molly", he whispers against her delicate skin before he sucks on her throat. Without letting go he rolls them over - and he on top of her. The loss of her hand around his cock only pains him a second, then he feels the heat of her sex and he grows even harder.  
"I will make love to you now", he whispers against her clavicle and parts her legs with his knees, shuddering as she opens for him. "I will make you mine for all eternity. My beautiful, clever wife. My heart. My soul."  
  
He kisses her everywhere he can reach, gently sucks on each rosewood nipple, spending a little more time on the left until she lets out this heavenly squeal of delight. With a loving kiss on the hard nub he lifts himself up on his elbows to look down at her. His hand is brushing through her hair. Molly's eyes are big and dark, her cheeks flushed.  
"Don't be scared. I will be gentle. I will do everything I can to make it hurt as little as possible."  
"I'm not scared. I love you."  
With the back of his hand he strokes her cheek, a smile on his lips.  
"I'll never understand why. But I'm so grateful that you do."  
"Sherlock-"  
He silences her with a deep, slow kiss. The tenderness he feels for Molly is pouring out of his heart, filling his entire being. He loves her so very much. He would do anything for her. He would kill and die for her. He is utterly, completely hers. And he's never felt more like himself. How strange love is, he thinks as he leans back and looks into her eyes. Then he kisses her again. His tongue moves inside her mouth, lazily, relishing the feel of her wet little tongue against his own.  
Molly wraps her arms around his shoulders. One hand slips into his curls, grabs them. He loves it. It arouses him. She wants him. He wants her. He wants to be inside of her, drown in her. His hand cups her breast, squeezes it, then it slides down her body to take a firm hold onto her hip bone.  
"I will touch you now, Molly. I want to make sure you are ready for me."  
  
Molly gasps into his mouth, lifts her head to capture his lips once more. Sherlock's hand wanders to her leg, grabs it, feels the warm, soft skin of her inner thigh, pushes it down to open her up even more. Only using his fingertips he slides up her thigh, the warmth of her fanny attracting his fingers. Spontaneously he decides he wants to look at her, so he breaks the kiss and gazes into her beautiful eyes as he lets the back of his index finger run up and down the apex of her thigh. Molly's lips part. Her hands wrap around his neck. She's blushing even more; so arousing.

Shy or bold, Sherlock can't decide which entices him more.  
  
His heart is beating strongly against his chest when he finally touches her. His long fingers slip between her outer labia to find hot, wet flesh. Both of them groan. On a reflex, Molly tries to close her thighs, stopped by his knees. Obscene, wet sounds fill their ears when Sherlock starts exploring her folds. For a second Molly squeezes her eyes shut but before her husband can protest, she pries them open again, bravely looks up at him.  
"Yes", he praises her and with index and middle finger he slides up and down through the dip between outer and inner labia, pressing the slippery small lips together as he moves. Molly's little gasp makes him even harder.  
"You experimented on your body, I assume?" he asks huskily.  
His wife gulps and nods. Sherlock can't help but smirk, his fingertips squeezing the skin around her little clit together, making her legs twitch.  
"Did you ever think of me while you were doing it?"  
"Yes", she pants, her nails scratching his neck.  
"Did you only caress your cherry stone or did you also push your fingers inside? Tell me", he insists hoarsely when she doesn't reply right away.  
"Fingers!" she pants as he squeezes her cherry stone a bit harder, wiggling his fingertips. "Fingers, too."  
Sherlock growls. "How many?"  
Molly arches her back, her wanton little body desperate for contact.  
"Two, two. Sherlock, please."  
"Yes," he pants against her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip. "Ask me. Beg me. Tell me what you need."  
"You...Your fingers...please...I feel so empty..."  
With a moan he buries his head in her neck and closes his eyes. Obliging his wife's plead, his fingers wander between her small lips. As if he's done it a million times already, middle and ring finger slide into her effortlessly. They are greeted by heat and thick, warm honey.  
"God, Molly, you're so wet", he can't help but pant against her throat. Molly almost whimpers and lifts her hips wantonly. Sherlock bites into her shoulder as he pushes his fingers into her as deep as he can. What a feeling. What a marvelous, divine feeling. Curiously he explores her depths, her slick walls. He spreads his fingers, stretches her. She's tight, so tight. His cock bobs and throbs with excitement. But not yet. First...  
  
"Come for me, Molly. Just once more. You're so tight. I don't want to hurt you. My darling, I need you to cry one more time before we can become one."  
Moving his fingers in and out of her slowly, Sherlock bends down to suckle on her left breast. Molly gasps, tenses beneath him. Her walls press his fingers together and Sherlock groans against the hard little nub inside his mouth. He pushes his fingers deep and flickers over her nipple fast before he sucks hard. It's all that's needed to make Molly scream out her orgasm.  
  
Jesus, her channel is clenching so hard. He doesn't dare to remove his fingers now, so he keeps them there, feels the full force of her convulsing channel. Molly clings to him, presses his face against her breast. He couldn't be happier.  
Her walls are still clenching when the tears come. Now he does carefully pull out his fingers so he can gather her up in his arms and hold her. She's crying into his chest, her nails digging into his skin. He endures the pain. He would endure much much more for her. Soothing kisses he whispers onto her forehead as well as words of love.  
  
After a while, the shaking woman in his arms relaxes against him. Sherlock tilts her chin up, wipes the tears off her wet cheeks.  
"I love you", he whispers and bends down to her, but leaves the last inch of space for her to cross, unsure if she wants this sort of affection now.  
"I love you, too."  
Her fingers disappear in his full hair. She crosses this last inch, kisses him tenderly. While their tongues are slowly stroking each other, Molly rolls back onto her back and takes him with her. Sherlock shivers as her fingertips glide down the valley of his spine all the way down to his backside. A shaky breath escapes his parted lips when her hand squeezes his buttocks. Molly's eyes open, still a little red from crying.  
"Now, Sherlock."  
"Are you sure? We can wait a little longer, we have all night."  
She shakes her head.  
"I'm ready. I need you. I want to feel you inside of me."  
"Dearest...", he breathes and kisses her.  
  
Deepening the kiss he rolls on top of her. His cock hardens fully when she spreads her legs for him, offering him rest between her thighs. Her arms embrace him as her tongue dives deep into his mouth, teasing his oh so perfectly. Sherlock moans and drapes one of her legs over his hips. Her warm little body beneath him, the incredibly soft skin against his own, the alluring heat of her sex...it's so intense, so bloody intense. But instead of fighting it, now he allows himself to feel it all.  
  
Willingly he drowns in Molly Holmes, takes her warmth and softness and offers her the masculine strength and heat of his larger body in return. He eases the tension with tender kisses and caressing touches. When Molly is writhing against him and moans into his mouth when he cups her breast, he knows the moment has come.  
  
His heart is thundering in his chest, arousal being only one reason. The other is nervousness. It will cause her pain, this first entry, and he already knows he will despise himself for inflicting it. Not consciously, but deep down he will condemn himself for his lust, his desire to take her. It's irrational and ludicrous, but that's love.  
  
Finally, after a long kiss, Sherlock repositions himself, settling the weight of his upper body on his left elbow so his right hand is free. He looks deep into Molly's eyes as he slides it between their hot bodies, observing her closely for any signs of discomfort.  
  
He wants her to say no. He fears nothing more.  
  
He wants her so badly, wants to sheath his cock deep inside her body. Take her. Claim her. Make her his in every sense of the word; forever.  
Sherlock's long fingers curl around his throbbing shaft and blindly he guides it to her. Molly gasps when she feels his head push against her wet folds, her hands landing on his shoulders. Although her eyelids flutter, she keeps looking up at him with parted lips. Sherlock bites down on his as he slides his length through her hot wet flesh. That already is so bloody damn good. He rests his forehead against hers and pants into her mouth.  
"My Molly..."  
"My Sherlock..."  
They kiss, both pairs of lips trembling. Sherlock's free hand cups her cheek and the back of her head. Such a small little skull...  
  
His fingers push down his cock. He gasps when he feels her entrance against his wet tip. As soon as he slowly pushes inside his wife, every sound around him dies away. He can't even hear her breathe anymore, nor himself. He just feels her tightness, this alluring heat and wetness. God, she's so slick and ready for him; all for him. He advances, his jaw clenches as her walls squeeze him, feel him, fighting the stretch he forces on them. Molly's nails dig into his shoulders when he reaches the barrier.  
A flicker of fear in her eyes; replaced with determination a second later. She bites her bottom lip and opens her legs wider.  
  
Always so brave.  
  
In return, he wants to be strong. Even though his body screams with animalistic desire by now, he stills his hips, gives her time to get familiar with him inside of her, stretching her. Not once does he look away from those lovely eyes. Only when the hard line around her mouth disappears does he move in and out of her, very slowly, very gently pushing against her hymen. Only for a second at first, then a little longer; and longer still. More firmly. He feels the tension of the membrane increasing, his pressure forcing it to stretch more and more...  
  
God, he doesn't want to hurt her. Why is there no other way?!  
  
As if she has heard his desperate thought, Molly soothingly combs her fingers through his hair and gives him an encouraging little nod.  
With a desperate exhale of breath he pushes further.  
  
  
An outcry.  
  
Her body flinching.  
  
  
It's done.  
  
  
...And he hates himself.  
  
  
Hastily his hands dart up to her face. His fingers caress as well as his lips. He kisses her on her forehead, her cheeks, on her squeezed-shut eyes and her lips. A shameful groan escapes him just as he does it. Her walls are clenching so tight. It hurts, but there is also pleasure. A lot.  
  
Shameful.  
  
In one breath he tells her how much he loves her and that he is so very sorry that he caused her pain, his voice not as strong as he wishes it to be. She's so very tight. So wonderfully tight, slick and hot.  
  
He will not hurt her. He will never hurt her again.  
  
So he waits, caresses and kisses. It doesn't matter if it takes minutes or hours. He will not move an inch before Molly hasn't opened her eyes. He must see her eyes. Her eyes always tell him everything she feels.  
  
When she finally does, and there is still so much love for him in them, he can breathe again.  
"Do you want me to stop?"  
He would. Of course he would. Everything for her. Always.  
She shakes her head, her bottom lip trembling. Tears well up in her eyes. His chest freezes over. Before he can panic and vow to her that he will never touch her again, Molly laughs. The tears fall in the moment she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a firm hug.  
"You're mine. You're truly, completely mine. We made it. We're one. Sherlock, oh Sherlock. I'm so happy."  
"Molly", is all he manages to croak, swallowing the lump in his throat. He buries his face in her neck and his right hand in her hair.   
  
Yes, they are one. There is nothing that keeps them apart anymore.

Hers. His. For the rest of their lives.  
  
Urgent now, he puts an arm beneath her neck while his other hand curls around her shoulder. He needs her closer, closer. No inch of air between them. Hungry and desperate is he as he kisses and sucks on her skin, licks over her clavicle up her throat to claim her smiling lips for a deep kiss. Sherlock pushes all of his length inside her. Both of them moan. When Molly pulls her legs to her body, making her hips tilt like so and he slips in even deeper into her glorious fanny, he pants against her open mouth. So fantastic. More. More.  
His hand squeezes her thigh as it slides up to the hollow of her knee, keeping her open. Biting his bottom lip hard he pushes into his Molly, her fanny so wonderfully tight, hot and wet.  
  
_God, yes!_  
  
It has never felt like this. Neither of his three intimate encounters has felt so good, so right, so erotic. For the first time in his life, Sherlock celebrates his instincts, hands himself over to this all dominating need to push, rock and thrust into his woman.

His woman.

Yes, that's what she is. His. Only his. He pushes harder. Deeper. Wants to hear her pleasure. Every gasp, every sigh and every moan is more beautiful than the first. And so sensual. Her body, God, her body. So petite and fragile, so warm and soft. Sherlock can't get enough of their skin sliding together, loves the feeling of her bare breasts against his chest, her soft belly against his as he thrusts and his hips slapping against her creamy thighs. With every push into her wet heat he wants her more. He wants to push deeper, deeper, wants to fill every tight inch of her. The sounds their bodies are making are so obscene; and so bloody erotic. He loves hearing how he slips in and out of her. She's so gloriously wet. Perfect. His perfect Molly.  
  
_Deeper. Deeper._  
  
She kisses his throat, nips at his earlobe. His wife is clinging to him and he loves it, loves her nails digging into his shoulder blades as he is taking her. It feels so right. She feels so right, so good. Sherlock groans and buries his hand in her long hair. So soft.  
  
  
_Soon_ , he realises. His testicles tighten. There is a tingle crawling up his spine, promising bliss and salvation.  
"Molly", he breathes into her ear, cups her head. Her hands wander up his neck to cup his face. Only now does he realise he's sweating.  
"Look at me, Sherlock", she whispers urgently.  
He lifts his head, pries his eyes open. One look into Molly's face, seeing her passion and arousal so clearly, and he's done for.

With high-pitched gasps and a guttural groan he ejaculates - and it feels so god damn right to do it inside of her. He tries to look at her as long as possible, but in the midst of all the pleasure his eyes drift shut. A tender kiss is pressed to his panting lips and he knows he's forgiven.

 

~oOo~

 

This, by far, was the best experience in his entire life - apart from the defloration. That was as horrible as he has feared. But it is done now, and he never has to do it again. At this thought, the world around him slides back into focus. He feels Molly's fingertips trail up and down his spine. Her leg is still hooked over his arm, dangling in the air. Her warm breath is tingling the skin on his neck - quite shallow. That's when he realises that all of his weight is resting on Molly. And that he hasn't paid attention to her in his lust.

Has she cried again?

He hasn't soothed her!  
  
"No," she protests when he attempts to lift himself off of her. "Stay. Just for a little while."  
Still, he lifts his head and shifts his weight so he can look into her face, his blue-green eyes searching for traces of tears and pain. His long fingers brush over her cheek; it's dry. She hasn't peaked.  
"I'm fine, Sherlock."  
The horror scenarios in his head must be mirrored in his eyes. He blinks, his heartbeat accelerates. Molly moves the leg hanging over his arm and he instantly lets go. To his surprise, instead of stretching it or pushing him away now, she wraps her legs around his hips. Sherlock can't help the gasp as she pushes his cock deeper into her.  
"I love this feeling," she whispers as she strokes his cheeks, "you inside of me. It feels so good."  
Her legs press against his arse once more and Sherlock pushes on a reflex, his soft cock slipping a bit deeper.

Yes, it feels good. So good. Too good.

He forgot about her, was rutting into her like a green boy.  
  
"You didn't peak", he says and cradles her face, guilt and shame washing over him.  
"No, and I'm very glad of it."  
His brows knit in confusion. Molly smoothes them with a thumb.  
"I would have cried. You would have stopped making love to me, you would have stopped enjoying this. The defloration was almost too much for you, I could see it in your face. You were short from stopping, foolish man. I wouldn't have wanted it. Then all the pain would have been for nothing. We would have missed out on the pleasure that followed and might have been too afraid to try again anytime soon. It was so wonderful. After the pain was gone, it was purest, most delicious pleasure. And seeing you...", Molly weaves a hand through his hair, a loving smile on her face, "so lost in pleasure...pleasure that came frome me...oh Sherlock." Her walls clench around his cock. He slips half-way out of her, but he doesn't want to leave her warmth yet.  
"Had I peaked and cried those foolish tears I would have missed it all. So yes, I am glad I didn't climax. That doesn't mean I did not love every single second of you inside of me. I did. I really did. Do you understand?"  
After a moment, he nods and bends down to kiss her with all the love he feels for his perfect wife.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many stories out there kinda downplay the defloration. Now I can only speak from personal experience, but it can be quite painful and I think it should be mentioned even in fanfic. So that's why it's not that "smooth" and "perfect" as many fics describe it. I think it was still wonderful because they love each other so bloody much. ^^


	3. Tasting you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath, some fun and new experiences

Despite her moaned protest, Sherlock rolls off of her and stands up. Mrs. Hudson has put a wash set on Molly's chest, the jug filled with luke warm water. Sherlock pours some into the bowl and takes a cloth to clean himself. It is stained with red as he drops it into the second, smaller bowl. Then he takes another cloth and dips it into the water. He hears Molly approach behind him as he wrings it out. He turns to her, her eyes on the cloth, ready to take it. Seeing her beloved face and her naked body makes him sink to his knees in front of her.   
"May I?" he asks, looking up at her. She blushes and presses her lips together, but then she nods. It makes him so happy. He presses his face into her belly, inhales her scent there and places open-mouthed kisses around her belly button. So soft...  
  
Molly's hand wanders into his hair, combing through it. How dear this little gesture is to him.   
With a last, lingering kiss beneath her belly button, Sherlock leans back. Molly hesitantly widens her stance.   
Devotion and duty command his hand as he carefully cleans her, the pang in his heart at the sight of her virginal blood on the cloth inevitable. It's over now, he reminds himself.   
  
"Did it hurt very much?" he can't help but ask. Molly hesitates to answer, knowing very well how he hates to inflict any sort of pain on her.   
"I have to admit, it was horrible. I've never felt such a pain before. So...sharp. It was overwhelming. But it's done now. It won't hurt or bleed anymore."  
Sherlock nods and dips the cloth into the water again, one hand on her hip, the thumb stroking her hip bone. After the cloth is wrung out, he begins cleaning her inner thighs.   
"Do you...feel different?"  
Sherlock doesn't look up at her.  
"Um, I feel...stretched. A little sore, I think. But mother said this is normal. It might be like this for a couple of nights, me being sore, I mean, but soon my body will get accustomed to the...intrusion."  
Sherlock can't help the snorted laugh. He glances up at her and she grins down at him.   
"Don't make jokes, Molly."  
"But I want to joke about this, Sherlock. I don't want it to be all seriousness. I want light-heartedness...and inappropriate jokes."  
  
At this, he looks up and raises an eyebrow at her.   
"Do you know any inappropriate jokes?"  
"I might know a limerick or two", Molly counters defensively.   
"Do you now?" he says in amusement. "How so?"  
"My father read _The Pearl_. He always hid it, of course, but once or twice I found it."  
"Naughty, Mrs. Holmes. And did your childish mind understand what you were reading?"  
"Of course not...some of it not until a few minutes ago."   
Sherlock chuckles and kisses her hip bone. His lips part and the tip of his tongue slides over the bone as he carefully moves the cloth one last time through her cleft.   
"Like what?"  
He drops the cloth into the smaller bowl and takes a soft towel to dry her. His mouth finds the soft skin of her hip and belly once in a while.   
"Well, there is this one limerick about the man of Bombay."  
Sherlock smirks against her belly and licks it.   
"Who fashioned a cunt out of clay?"  
Molly somehow manages to gasp and giggle at the same time.  
"That's the one. _But the heat of his prick turned it into a brick_ -"  
" _And chafed all his foreskin away_ ", Sherlock finishes the limerick. He drops the towel and rises. In one elegant movement he hooks his hands into the hollows of her knees and lifts her up. With a surprised squeal Molly quickly wraps her arms around his neck.   
"Let me guess. Foreskin?" Sherlock asks, feeling delightfully naughty using such words with his wife. She smiles, shaking her head as he carries her back to the bed.   
"'The heat of the prick'."  
"Ah." He likes thoses words in her soft voice.  
"I still think it's impossible to really turn clay into a brick with only body heat, although yours does feel very hot."  
"My what?" he challenges her, now standing in front of the bed, the not named body part already half-hard again. Molly's eyes light up and her fingers wander through his curls.   
"Your prick." She lets out an endearing little giggle. "But personally, I prefer the term 'cock'."  
"Me too", Sherlock rumbles and lowers her until she can feel it against her sex. "Sounds bigger, doesn't it?"  
Molly only giggles and shakes her head, giving him a small peck on the lips. He smiles and leans down to kiss her some more, until the arms around him wind tighter.   
"And what about yours, my naughty wife? What term do you prefer?"   
"I-I don't know any slang words for-"  
"Oh, don't even try. You read _The Pearl_. You know them all."   
He can see the regret in her eyes for telling him about this. It only adds to his amusement.   
"No shame, remember?"   
He kisses her and rests one knee on the bed. Whispering against her lips, he slowly lowers her onto the bed, this time in the correct position with her head on the pillow.   
"What do you want me to call it? Not vagina, I hope. Too scientifical, too cold for such a wonderful thing. How about...quim? Clam? Tulip? Cat's meat?"  
Sherlock chuckles when she makes a face. He's climbing on top of her.   
"The most commonly used is probably 'cunt'. Personally, I don't want that term for you."  
"No?"  
He shakes his head, then bends down to kiss both her rosewood nipples.   
"What do you want to use? What did you think of when you took me?"  
A shiver runs down his spine and he nips at the brimming hill of her breast.   
"Cunt was there, I admit. But even in thought I dislike it...'Fanny' has been mostly on my mind."  
He looks up from her chest. She tilts her head, combs through his curls.   
"I like that."  
"Yes?"   
She smiles and nods. Only a gentle tug on his curls is needed to make him cover her body with his own. Her thighs spread invitingly and Molly sighs happily as he sinks between them.   
"In that case, darling," he whispers into her ear, "I must confess that I am dying to taste your fanny."  
Molly's breath gets stuck in her throat.   
"I will be very gentle. And if you don't like it, or are too sore to enjoy it, you will tell me immediately, won't you, dearest?"  
  
Their eyes meet, hers dark as the night but twinkling like stars, she shyly nods. He kisses her deep and slow until she arches her petite body against his. Then he kisses his way south, taking his time, caressing and tasting her breasts thoroughly until both nipples are erect and glistening. With the tip of his tongue - and holding eye contact - he glides down her belly, circles the belly button once, twice, before he ventures further down. Molly gasps and her hips twitch when her husband presses a kiss into her bush of brown hair. The hairs scratch over his lips and nose, but he doesn't mind. It only makes him more eager and one by one he winds his arms around her thighs to spread them. Finally he can fullfil his promise, he thinks happily.   
  
Beginning with her left inner thigh, he kisses every inch of it, swearing his love against the incredibly soft skin. Molly whispers his name and he glances up at her, smiling. She smiles back, her cheeks flushed and her bottom lip red, doubtlessly from her teeth gnawing on it. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is like this, from this angle, but instead he lowers his mouth to her fanny, swearing his love right against her lips.

Molly gasps, hips and legs buckling. Sherlock smiles proudly for a second, but this smile dies a second later. Her scent is filling his nose, the soft pubic hair is tickling his lips. With a groan he presses his open mouth to the apex of her thigh, arousal filling his head. As he sucks at her skin, his nimble fingers open her. The little sound it makes has him nip at her thigh. Hungry eyes dart to her flesh; she's puffy and pink, the prettiest fanny he's ever seen. His wife is perfect, indeed, and he will serve at her feet for the rest of his life with a happy smile and a constant plead on his lips.   
  
  


His fingers open her a little more, until the little cherry stone is revealed. Molly flinches when he blows on it. Sherlock looks up at her, finds her head turned to the side.   
"Do you want me to stop?" he asks and she shakes her head. When her eyes refuse to look at him, he understands.   
"No shame, Molly."  
"I know", she sighs. Yet, no eye contact.   
"I want to do this. You're beautiful. Your fanny is beautiful."  
Her eyes close momentarily. Sherlock reaches for her hand, interlaces their fingers. Her thumb strokes his warm skin.   
"I will always stop, Molly. Just one word."  
She nods. He wants her to look at him, but doesn't demand it. But he very well looks at _her_ as he has this first taste of her, his tongue sliding through her pink flesh from bottom to top. The little squeal she gives him in combination with her buckling hips make him smile. He does it again, slower, feeling every hill and valley on his tongue.

Molly's taste fills his mouth and he swallows the first drops of her honey greedily after he licks her a third time.

A growl rumbles in this throat. What a taste.

Molly.

His.   
  
  


_Mine_

  
Lazily he circles her clit, lets her get used to this feeling. Oh, she gets used to it fast. The tense thighs in his arms relax, so does the rest of her body. Sherlock sighs happily and starts sucking on her swelling clit, very gently, very carefully. Her hand squeezes his, her hips roll; a sign she wants more. Happily, he gives it.

To give her pleasure is such a rewarding task; his cock throbs in agreement. At a long sigh, Sherlock looks up. Molly is gnawing on her bottom lip, the rosewood nipples are hard and are begging for attention. Willingly he gives it, his free hand sliding up her side to seize her breast and gingerly rub her nipple between his fingers. His wife rewards him with the sweetest of mewls and Sherlock lets his tongue slide through her again. So much wetter is she.   
Cheekily the tip of his tongue dips into her opening to scoop up more honey. Molly gasps and her hips buckle. Looking at her again, he circles her entrance slowly.

"Oh God...", she breathes.

A shiver runs down his spine when her legs spread wider and she arches her back.

God, this woman will be the death of him.

She's too enticing, too beautiful in her lust. All he wants to do is please her, taste her, fuck her until he dies of starvation. Cases, experiments, knowledge; fuck it all. He just wants to be inside of her, always.   
  
These thoughts are dancing around in his head as he orally pleasures his wife, arousal flowing through his veins like liquid fire. His hips push his cock into the mattress, desperate for friction as his tongue delves deeper into her tight little fanny. Molly gasps and lifts her pale legs, granting him better access. He growls his appreciation and pushes as deep as he can.   
"Oh God", Molly pants as he begins fucking her with his tongue. Her walls are clenching and he grunts, only pushing harder, faster.   
  
"Sherlock, Sherlock", Molly begs, for more, he assumes, so he gives it his all, his chin, nose and mouth coated in her honey. She comes apart within seconds. Her thighs snap shut and Sherlock's eyes roll into the back of his head, his face being buried in her cunt, getting to feel, taste and smell her orgasm so bloody intensely he almost comes himself.   
As expected, the tears follow her bliss. Sherlock hurries to wipe his face on his upper arm before he lies down next to her and pulls her into a tight embrace. Molly clings to him as she cries, spilling her tears on his bare chest, and he tenderly kisses her forehead and strokes her hair until it is over.  
  
  
"Are you all right?" Sherlock asks after it's been silent for a while.   
"Yes", she confirms against his skin and snuggles closer against him. "It was wonderful, Sherlock."  
"Better than penetration?" he can't help but ask. Rumor has it that most women prefer oral pleasure, or so he has heard - somewhere.  
"I don't think I can really compare, yet. Defloration certainly dulled the experience."  
He chuckles. He probably shouldn't enjoy their almost scientific conversations about sex so much - but he really does.   
"Then I will ask again after the next time."  
She hums against his chest and presses her soft little body against his. "I can't wait", she murmurs and Sherlock pulls her closer.  
"Soon, my darling. Let's go to sleep for now, give your body a little rest."  
"I'm not tired", she protests.   
"Yes, you are."  
Ignoring her huff, Sherlock sits up to grab the blanket, seeing the red spot on the white sheet at the foot of the bed out of the corners of his eyes. He covers them both and kisses her. It feels so good to finally be in bed with her, allowed to hold her, sleep and wake next to her. Tenderly, he looks into her eyes and brushes a strand of hazelnut hair out of her face.   
  
"I love you, Molly." He simply can't stop saying it.   
Molly bites her lips and closes her eyes for a second.   
"What?"  
She giggles. "My entire body is humming now when you say it."  
The grin spreading on his face is boyish and proud. Then he kisses her, makes sure she is comfortable, then rests his head on top of hers. It feels so bloody fantastic holding her, feeling her naked skin against his and the heat of their bodies, her hair tickling his chin and lips. They don't move an inch that night, both holding on to the other as they sleep, finally united as husband and wife.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Pearl" actually existed.


	4. The Return of Something Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newlyweds open wedding gifts.

Warmth is the first thing he senses as he slowly wakes. Soft little breasts grazing his chest. A thigh between his legs, a most comfortable bed for his cock. Fingers playing with the hair in the nape of his neck. He is smiling before he is fully awake, the sweetest of memories filling his mind.  
Lips brushing over his. Molly. His wife. His nymph. With a blissful sigh he kisses her, the hand resting on her hip cupping her behind, squeezing it fondly before only the fingertips travel through the valley of her spine to slide into her hair. Their mouths are stale from sleep, yet neither of them minds as they part their lips to let their tongues greet each other. The kiss is deep, slow, relishing. Full of love and happiness.  
"Good morning", Sherlock mumbles against her lips. Then he finally opens his eyes. Molly greets him with her sparkling own and a warm smile.  
"Good morning, husband."  
The emphasis on her last word turns his smile boyish and he feels the weight of the wedding band on his finger.  
"How late is it?"  
The curtains are drawn.  
"Late. Mrs. Hudson is back. I heard the door some time ago."  
Sherlock can't help making a face. He had loved it being alone in the house with her; so comfortable and intimate.  
"How are you feeling?" he asks, his hand wandering down her back to cup her full little arse again.  
"Hungry."  
He can't help being disappointed, but he lets go of her cheek, anyway.  
"I'll ask Mrs. Hudson to prepare breakfast."  
Sherlock wants to get up, but his wife doesn't let go of his neck. His brows knit in confusion as he looks down at her. She is biting her bottom lip, smiling shyly. Her eyes are shining.  
"Oh."  
Molly giggles and shakes her head.  
"Quite daft in the morning, eh? Good thing you're handsome, Mr. Holmes."  
He laughs as he pounces her, kissing and rolling on top of her in one elegant motion. A shudder runs through him as Molly welcomes him with parted legs.  
"For this, I'll make love to you so thoroughly that Mrs. Hudson will hear everything and you'll sit at the breakfast table with flushed cheeks and ears."  
"I can be quiet if I want to", she protests and wraps her legs around his waist. He feels how ready she already is for him and nips at her jaw.  
"We'll see about that."  
And then, not a word is spoken for the next hour and a half. At the breakfast table, Molly wears the predicted blush - but so does Sherlock after Mrs. Hudson gives him a meaningful smirk.

  
After the table in the study is cleared, Molly starts unwrapping the wedding gifts. Sherlock on the other hand stands behind his wife and is subtly trying to unwrap _her_. He manages to open her dressing gown and the first five buttons of her white laced chemise when Molly suddenly laughs.  
"Would you look at this?"  
Sherlock looks up from her neck - which he was kissing just now - over her shoulder. He snorts as he sees the chamber pot with the humorous message:

_  
This pot is a present sent.  
__Some mirth to make is only meant,  
We hope the same you’ll not refuse.  
But keep it safe and oft it use.  
When in it you want to piss,  
Remember them who sent you this.  
  
_  
"John and Mary?" he asks, returning his attention back to her slender neck.  
"No. Mr. and Mrs. Mycroft Holmes."  
"What?!"  
Molly laughs as Sherlock lets go of her to inspect the present closely before he reaches for the card that came with it.  
_  
  
Every year, dear brother.  
I recommend planning excessive storage room for Wimpole Street.  
  
_  
"Excessive!" Sherlock spits angrily and wants to grab the pot to throw it out the window, but Molly protests.  
"No! I like it."  
"What?!"  
She laughs. "It's funny!"  
"He just wants to get back at me!"  
"Well, he failed, didn't he? Because I really like it...and you get to send him a thank you note in which you will make sure to mention that indeed we will think of him every time we use it."  
Sherlock blinks, then understands. An evil smirk spreads on his face.  
"My clever wife", he praises her and draws her in for a kiss. She giggles against his lips.  
"Keep unwrapping the gifts. I'll put this under the bed before you can do mischief with it."  
"Or I could come with you", he suggests, holding on to her hand. She kisses him once more, then shakes her head and points to the pile of gifts on the table.  
"Unwrap, Holmes."  
Begrudingly, he does; as quickly as possible, knowing the contents of the boxes before he tears off the wrapping.  
  
When he lifts a little square box, he freezes and gasps. His heartbeat accelerates and his eyes get misty. He smiles even before he opens the card and reads the name written in colorful crayons. It's the only thing she can write so far.  
Sherlock carefully removes the card and opens the box where a little note covers the present. He takes it out and unfolds it.  
  
_  
Dear Sherly and Mollily,  
Mama is writing this, but it's my words.  
I am so happy that you two are married now. I always knew you would.  
Although I'm the Captain, I'm not that strict when it comes to love on my ship, so you're still part of my crew.  
Please come sail with me as soon as possible.  
No kissing on my ship though. It looks funny.  
Sherly, now that she is your wife, I think you should take Mollily's stone back. It was her first gift to you, after all.  
I keep all your gifts to me, so I think you would like to keep hers, too.  
  
_~~_That's all I want to say, Mama. You can stop writing now. Mama? What are you doing? Stop writing. No, don't write 'stop writing'._~~  
  
~~MAMA!~~

 

_Yours truly,_  
  
_Captain Rosamund 'Thornrose' Watson_

  
Sherlock laughs heartily. The last two lines have been angrily crossed out with red crayon, the ink still shining through.  
_Mary Watson, mother of the year_ , he thinks with another laugh.  
Putting the letter on the table, Sherlock focuses his attention on the stone Mary had bedded in black satin, which makes the white of its surface even brighter and the heartline more prominent. He takes it out, his chest filling with warmth as he feels the still familiar weight and smooth texture in his palm. Just as he closes his fingers around it, Molly returns.  
"Another chamber pot?" Molly asks in jest as she steps next to him. Sherlock only shakes his head, a heavy lump in his throat, and nods to the letter.

As Molly reads it, he feels the stone warm up against his skin.  
  
Molly laughs at the two last lines, as well.  
"Her own mother shouldn't tease her so", comes her comment as she neatly folds the letter and places it next to the card. They will keep all of it for the rest of their lives.  
"I love this stone", he says softly, unfolding his hand to look at it.  
He draws his wife close with his other hand.  
"I never told you. When you were gone...I missed you so goddamn much. Every day without you felt wrong. And your stone...it made it easier to endure. I never parted from it. I carried it around in the breast pocket of my waistcoat, I held it in my hand when I slept. It made me feel closer to you...But when your one but last letter came and you spoke of Abbott so warmly...it broke my heart. I thought I had lost you to another before I ever got the chance to speak. So I gave it away. Rosie didn't ask for it. I gave it to Mary when she came by to tell me that Abbott would follow you to London. The moment it was gone I regretted it. I felt even further away from you then. It was ungrateful and insulting to give it away as if it meant nothing. But it meant everything to me. That you saw something so beautiful and thought of me..."  
Sherlock swallows down the lump in his throat, reliving all those weeks of heartache and longing. He shakes his head to chase those unhappy memories away.  
"I'm so happy it's back. I will never part from it again, I swear."  
  
He looks at her then and the look in her eyes sends a jolt through his body. With a desperate gasp he pulls her against him and claims her mouth. Their hands are pulling at clothes as they stumble down the hall. Their mouths are hungry, their tongues urgent.

It could all have gone wrong.  
  
Luckily, it didn't. They are together. He is hers. She is his. This thought is ringing in his ears when he grips her chemise and rips it open, sending the buttons flying. Mrs. Hudson will comment on it when she'll find them. He won't care then as he doesn't care now. Neither does Molly. On the contrary. She moans into his mouth and pulls him into their bedroom.  
  
Their lovemaking is urgent, passionate, almost rough. When they don't kiss, they look deep into each other's eyes. Their hands are clasped together, both afraid and unwilling to let go.

The stone is pressed between their palms the entire time.

 


	5. Drowning in you

To hold her in his arms, her warm nakedness pressed against his front, her soft buttocks pillowing his cock, her silken hair against his cheek, lips and nose...it is so new and yet already feels so pleasantly familiar.  
As if he's done it countless of times before, his hand has cupped her little breast as he wound his arms around her small frame. His hold is gentle but secure, a hint of posessiveness in his touch she must forgive.

Her breast fills his palm as if it has been made for his particular hand. Sherlock's thumb and fingers caress it gently but relentlessly, the feel of her skin too exquisite, the heat too alluring. Trying not to stir her from her slumber but unable to resist, he moves his hand so that his palm teases her soft nipple. As the tissue begins to harden and the nub is rising, Sherlock tightens his hold on her. Desire is heating up his blood. He wants her again. If it would be up to him, they wouldn't leave the bed for weeks, at most for food and drink and the occasional bath, getting clean only to get filthy again.  
  
But he doesn't want to ask too much of her. She's been deflowered not 24 hours ago, her sweet fanny is still struggling to accomodate him when he enters her. The tightness pleases him to no end, but he knows it's unpleasant for Molly. She has bitten her lip, her brows have furrowed. His desire is dampened as he recalls their previous lovemaking. He's been too rough, has thrust too hard, too fast. Sherlock buries his face in her neck and inhales deeply, the jasmine on her skin almost gone, but still prominent in her hair. He tries to remember if she's been in pain, searches for any signs in her body or face. The memory is hazy, he's been so desperate for her; to be inside her, fill her, claim her. A groan is bubbling in his throat, but he suppresses it in order not to wake her. Isn't it a bad sign that she's sleeping? Her body so exhausted...from pain?!  
  
No, no. Molly has promised to tell him instantly if she ever felt pain. She would have. Of course she would have. And she's kissed him and pulled him close just as fiercely. She has peaked only seconds after him, as he was still spilling inside her. There have been tears, yet she has allowed him to hold her, kiss her, has snuggled into him and told him she loved him. She hasn't been in pain.  
His eyes travel over her peaceful face to the hand resting next to it on the pillow they are sharing. The pristine white of her stone is shining through her relaxed fingers. Sherlock smiles and kisses her jaw. His Molly. His brave, clever wife. He is a lucky man. Underservedly so, but ever so grateful.

Minutes pass in which he watches her, kisses her neck, hair and shoulder. He continues to caress her breast; the disciplined man turned into an overeager lover. Eventually, his wife stirs. As she comes to it, she stiffens. Sherlock stops breathing.  
"Molly?"  
A giggle. His hold around her tightens and he buries his face in her neck.  
"Sorry. For a second I didn't know where I am...and who is fondling my breast."  
"I didn't mean to wake you", he mumbles, his lips brushing over the soft skin. She giggles once more and turns around in his arms. Her eyes are sleepy, but sparkling with mischief.  
"The first lie in our marriage, Mr. Holmes, only one day in. I am disappointed."  
His wife presses her lovely, petite, very naked body against his own and a very low hum rumbles through his chest at which Molly smiles almost wickedly.  
"I truly didn't-"  
Her kiss cuts him off. Sherlock moans against her lips and opens his mouth to her. The texture of her soft skin beneath his palm arouses him, makes him grow hard against her thigh. Not to mention her clever little tongue circling his, licking it in a way that makes his hands tremble with desire for Molly. His Molly. His wife. His lover. He growls into her mouth and sucks at her tongue. Molly answers this with a gasp.  
"What?" Sherlock pants, desire pulsing through his veins, clounding his brain.  
"Do it again."  
"What?"  
Molly giggles and rolls her hips.  
"Suck at my tongue, Sherlock."  
  
A shiver runs through him. This woman, he thinks with desperation as he rolls her onto her back and covers her body with his. With another growl he pushes his tongue into her sweet mouth, moving with the sole intention to make her as desperate for him as he is for her. Her sweet giggle tells him that she sees right through his mischievious intention. Their kissing lips smile and Sherlock leans back a little to look into her eyes. Their shine makes his heartbeat stutter, her sweet smile is infectious. Molly reaches up and lets her fingers comb through his hair.  
"You look so different with your curls dancing free like this."  
"Dancing?"  
She giggles.  
"Yes. Eases the sharp edges of your cheekbones. Makes you look much more...approachable."  
"I take it you like me better like this."  
Her nails scratch over his scalp. Goosebumps spread on his neck and his eyelids flutter.  
"Do I prefer you dishevelled, naked, smiling and aroused? Yes, darling, I do like you better like this...now, about that tongue-sucking-thing..."  
Sherlock shakes his head and smiles down at his cheeky wife, the hand on her hip pulling her soft body against his.  
"Say please", he teases her back.  
  
Her eyes widen, then she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him nose to nose with her.  
"Sherlock Holmes. I'm your wife. It is your holy duty to satisfy me."  
"Hmm...I must have missed this part in the vows."  
She giggles ever so charmingly.  
"You were half asleep when we got to them, so yes, you did miss the part where the vicar said 'I vow to sexually please my wife until she tells me to stop, and only then'."  
Sherlock chuckles and gently grabs his wife's lovely butt cheek.  
"Aren't you sore, darling?" he asks softly.  
"I'm fine, Sherlock. Stop worrying. I want you to make love to me."  
"So demanding, Mrs. Holmes", he smiles down at her. "Give me your tongue, then", he whispers against her lips. Arching her body against his so she does, pushes her wet tongue past his lips. He traps it with them and as he gently begins sucking, he rolls between her legs, pushing them apart with his knee. Invitingly Molly pulls him to her body and Sherlock groans, pushing his throbbing cock against her wet heat.  
"Molly", he pants against her mouth. Hastily he hooks his arms into the hollows of her knees.  
  
So open, so all his.  
  
_Yes!_  
  
"Mine", he purrs, nips at her chin, then stares into her eyes and pushes into her, slowly, making her feel every inch of him. With a high-pitched gasp Molly claws her fingers into his shoulder, her eyes widening.  
"Sherlock, Sherlock...oh God! You're so deep! Sherl-"  
She tenses, the legs dangling over his arms twitch and then, dear heaven, she comes, letting out a shout he hasn't heard before. Her tight fanny is squeezing him so hard, pulling him even deeper, so demanding that he comes right away, without so much as one thrust.

Almost whimpering her name he presses his hips against her thighs as he empties himself inside her, so deep, so good he's almost cross-eyed. As soon as he's spent he releases her legs and wraps himself around her warm body, desperate for contact and making sure to be there for her when the tears come.  
"I love you. My heart, my darling", he whispers into her ear, cradling her head, his fingers buried in her silky hair. That's when she breaks, wrapping her arms and thighs tightly around his neck and hips, pulling him as close as she can. Soothingly he rains sweet little kisses on her shoulder and clavicle, waiting for it to be over. As soon as she relaxes, he kisses her cheek, then sucks on her earlobe. The thighs aroung his hips tense, pushing his cock into her sweet, wet fanny.  
"Again."  
He shudders. Molly's lips are right at his ear, her voice carrying such a sensuality.  
"God, woman. You're driving me mad."  
Despite his growled protest, he pushes into her again. It's uncomfortable, for his erection has mostly softened after ejaculation. Yet, he tries, for her. Everything for her.

She pulls her legs to her body, grabs his neck and pulls his mouth to hers. Her kiss is intoxicating, her tongue thrusting past his lips to lick his urgently, as if she can't get enough of him. Her moan echoes within his mouth and he thrusts into her, groaning at the discomfort.  
"Yes", she pants, breaking the kiss, and Sherlock gasps when her nails dig into his arse; hard, demanding.  
He grows hard; instantly. It's so sudden his head is spinning. Molly is merciless, pinching and scratching his arse cheeks, trying to get his cock inside her even deeper than he is. When he doesn't hook his arms under her legs, she plants her feet in the mattress and lifts her hips to meet his thrusts. And then, Lord have mercy, she rolls them and clenches her muscles around him and he-  
With a desperate groan he rests his full weight on her, pushing her into the mattress to stop her maddening hips.  
  
"Mercy. Mercy! God, Molly. It's too much. You're driving me insane with your fanny...your sweet little fanny, so tight and hot and wet for me, so fucking wet. God, you're so wet..."  
With a desperate groan he hastily shimmies down her body, catching patches of skin with his teeth along the way, sucking, biting, licking. Almost angrily he sucks at those hard rosewood nipples, nips at them until she cries out and arches her back. But Sherlock is already gone, his tongue sliding down her skin, tasting, licking. God, he can't get enough of her.  
  
He growls and bites into the soft flesh of her belly until she lets out a whimper, then his tongue dips into her navel, circles it playfully while his hands make haste to spread her legs and throw her thighs over his shoulder. As soon as he feels their weight he grabs his wife's hips so hard there will be bruises later and buries his face in her fanny. Molly cries out, his tongue shoved into her wet cave. Hungrily Sherlock drinks from her well, scoops and sucks her honey and his semen out of her. The taste explodes on his tongue; fuck, he loves it so much. She is so sweet, the taste so heavy on his tongue it makes him groan into her hot flesh.  
  
"Sherlock, Sherlock..." does she pant his name and all he thinks is  
  
_'Yes! Say my name! You're mine! Your heart is mine! Your body is mine!'._  
  
Later he will be ashamed of how greedy he becomes, of his almost violent hold on her, of the guttural groans he makes and of the wet sounds he creates as his tongue plows through her, so fast and demanding. He will also be ashamed of her, for instead of telling him to stop, to let go of her, to stop hurting her, that freshly deflowered fanny only gets wetter and wetter; his mouth, chin and nose are covered in her honey.  
  
_She should not like this_ , he can't help but think as he bites into her outer labia with a primal grunt.

 _She should not be so wet for me, her flesh all pink, her clit so swollen and desperate for my mouth_.

_She should not call my name so sweetly, begging me for more._

_This is not right. Not right. No..._

With an outcry she comes just as this self-destructive thought drones in his ears. Her soft thighs lock around his head and their strength, the scent and wetness of her fanny make him come. As he ejaculates right onto the sheets he buries his face deeper in her delicious heat, squeezing his eyes shut. For several sweet heartbeats the shame and guilt vanish and there is only the ecstasy of orgasm and Molly's thighs pressing against his head.  
  
  


 


	6. Wanting you so much it hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit out there.

Sherlock's head is still spinning when the horror of his actions overcome him. His eyes shoot up, staring up at a still trembling Molly. Her arms are limp, hands next to her head, her face turned away from him, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth hanging open, panting as she is shedding her tears. As his eyes wander down her heaving, sweaty chest, the drumming heart in his chest freezes.

Countless red and purple marks on her body, the colour so crass against her pale skin, so violent.   
  
Bitemarks, actual bitemarks on her breasts, the nipples red and swollen.

Shadows of his fingertips on her hips.

  
The traces of his violence on Molly's petite, fragile body make him gasp and Sherlock jumps out of bed, away from her. In horror he looks at his hands, those brutal hands that caused her pain. Then his vision blurs.   
"Darling? Sherlock?"  
Her warm hand on his arm. He jerks back, gasping.   
Brown eyes, wide and frightened.   
"Say something", she begs and reaches out for him again.   
Sherlock's knees give in and he sinks to the floor, his hands still held out in front of him.   
"I did it again. I lost control. I hurt you. I hurt you..."  
His voice is urgent, shaking.   
Her hands come flying to palm his face. She is kneeling in front of him now.  
"No, Sherlock. No. Look at me."  
Molly's eyes are darting over his face, the brows knitted in worry.   
"I'm so sorry", Sherlock whispers, a knot forming in his throat. He can't believe he's done it again.   
"Stop it, Sherlock. I'm fine. I love you."  
He averts his eyes, looks down her bruised body, but Molly pulls at his chin.   
"No, come back to me. Don't drown yourself in self-loathing. Look at me. See me. Feel me. Let me hold you."  
She pushes against his shoulder, urgently, determined, until he is lying on his side on the carpet and she is facing him.   
"Feel me", she says again, shifting until she is flush against him. When he remains impassive, she takes his arm and wraps it around her, entangles her legs with his, careful not to accidently kick him in the groin.   
"Look at me."  
He does so with wet eyes.   
"I love you. Say it."  
How can she love him? How can this angel love him?  
"You love me", he croaks, for her fierce eyes command him to obey.   
"Yes, I do, with all my heart and soul."   
Her hand comes to rest on his cheek and her thumb gently strokes his cheekbone.   
"You did not hurt me. Say it."  
He gulps down the rising knot.   
"Say it", she insists.  
"I did not hurt you."  
Molly moves her face closer to his.   
"No, you didn't. I loved it, Sherlock. All of it. Your passion just as much as your tenderness."  
"It...", he gulps again, but her big warm eyes make him say it, "it felt violent. I lost command over my body. I felt so much, all at once, I...I couldn't think."  
Molly listens patiently and never stops caressing his face.   
"When it happens, I don't feel like myself. I...I want to possess. You. All of you. It's like my body is trying to devour you, to make you a part of it."  
Shame washes over him, his words dying in his throat. Even now, even with the countless marks on her soft body, he can still feel this dark need to claim all of her until she is his, only his.  
  
When he doesn't say more, because trying to explain his feelings is so exhausting, Molly closes the gap between them and presses a chaste, lingering kiss on his trembling lips, which he half-heartedly responds to. He doesn't want to get aroused again. Never again.   
"Dearest heart," Molly whispers against his lips, her voice soft but trembling, "I want to be possessed by you. I want to be yours in every possible way. If I could I would melt my skin to yours."   
Her fingers slide into his hair and curl around it, holding it tight. Her eyes are dark and the flames of the fire in his back are dancing in them.   
"I would tear out my heart and put it in your chest so you can feel it beating next to yours. If I could, I would command my soul to leave my body and disappear in yours so I all I felt was you. I love you. I want you. I want your strength, your power. I want to feel it. I want your mark. I will gladly take any bruises your hands and mouth leave on my body, for it is just another proof that I am yours..."   
The dark eyes focus on his mouth, the hold on his hair is tightening; hurting.   
"I want you to want me so much that you can't refrain from touching me, that you need to kiss me...that you need to have me or you'll run mad."  
  
A flash of lightning shoots through him, setting his body aflame once again.   
"I want you to crave my body as much as my heart. I want your passion more than anything...so that I will be brave enough to show you mine. Because all that you described and what I said; I feel it, too. I crave you, Sherlock." 

Her eyes fill with tears.

"I know a woman should be soft and tender and receiving...but I want to possess you, too. So badly it hurts. Every inch of your body...I want it so much. I need it. This, this isn't close enough. I think nothing ever will be. The barriers of our bodies will never allow me to be as close to you as I want to be."

  
With a gasp he grabs her hair, his heart aching with the same need her whispered words are describing.

She understands.

He can't believe it.   
  
"I know it's frightening. I'm frightened, too. We're only at the beginning, our love and desire still blossoming. Will it stop hurting? Or will it only hurt more? Will the hunger be appeased or is it insatiable? Whatever the future holds, I know we will bear it. Because this need...it springs from love; not from violence."  
  
 _...Yes_ , he thinks. _I love her. I love her so goddamn much._  
  
"It is not what we are taught; we are taught to be gentle and tender with the one we truly love, that too much passion is equal to violence, that bruises from a lover's tight embrace are condemnable, wrong. But when you hold me like this, when you press me against you so hard I can barely breathe...God, then I feel so loved, so wanted. I refuse to see anything wrong in this. We are man and wife. You are mine and I am yours. And that's the only thing that matters. We only have to answer to each other and no one else...Fuck everyone else!"  
  
Lightning shoots through him, arousal so intense he gasps and rolls her onto her back, his arms around her. His eyes stare into hers. 

_She feels it, too._

_This hunger._

_This need._

_This all-consuming love._

_It is love. Not violence._

_The world is wrong._

_We are right._

_It's just us._

_Fuck everyone else._

  
"Fuck everyone else", he whispers as he spreads her legs with his knees and settles between them. His cock is fully erect, throbbing and weeping.   
He wants her so fucking much.   
Staring into his wife's eyes, Sherlock slides a hand between their bodies and guides his cock to her entrance.

So wet, so hot, so tight.

He lets go of himself to bury his long fingers in her hair, dares to grab the silky strands as tight as he needs to. Molly's lips part, the dark pools of brown sparkle with need. For him to take her, possess her.   
  
This need.

It's always been there. Long before their first kiss in the library. From the very first moment this light has been in her eyes.   
...And that's why he's pushed her away. Gosh, it's all so clear all of a sudden. He's seen it. He has recognized this hunger within himself; has been afraid of it.

But no more.

Molly is strong, so strong.

She feels what he feels.

They are kindred spirits.

They were made for each other.

  
Letting his dark desire fill his chest for the very first time in his life, Sherlock slams his cock into his woman.

His.

She's tight, so tight, but takes him bravely.

Again.

Molly gasps.

Sherlock spreads his legs for more control, more strength. His free hand grabs her hip, nails digging into the soft skin.

Another hard thrust.

Their gazes locked, Molly pulls her legs to her body.

Sherlock growls and slams his cock into her again, hips slapping loudly against thighs.

He starts fucking her with those deep, hard thrusts, ignoring his inner worries of being too brutal.

Now he knows she wants it. Needs it.

Not only from her words but from the way she looks up at him with those big brown eyes, burning with the same hunger he feels in his chest.

Her arms are lying next to her head, limp. It arouses him so fucking much, this complete submission.

He fucks her harder, jaw locked tight, eyes boring into hers, fingers pulling at her hair just enough to make her feel the strength of his hand just as much as the strength of his hips and his cock.

His hard, thick cock. Slamming into her again and again. Deep. Deeper. Filling her. Stretching her. Making her wetter.

She's so fucking wet. Both of them feel it. Both of them hear it, with every thrust of his strong hips.

So willing.

So fucking willing.

So strong, his Molly.

  
Sherlock thrusts harder, deeper. His stones are slapping against her arse. Her honey is sticking to them.

_Yes._

_God, yes!_   
  
  


"Deeper."  
A shiver down his spine. His eyes widen at the fire in Molly's gaze. Now she lifts her arms, wraps them around his shoulders to bury her hands in his locks.   
"Harder, Sherlock."  
Her nails scratch over his scalp and his hips slam against her thighs.   
"You're still holding back. I can see it. I will never be yours if you don't claim me."  
Instantly, his grip on her hair and hip tighten. Molly's lips tremble. She pulls him down until all he can see is her eyes.   
"Fuck me, Sherlock. Fuck me as hard and deep as you can. Fuck me until all of me is yours."  
"Mine", he growls the word echoing within him.

And then he takes her like that dark part of his soul always wanted to take her, from the very first moment their eyes met in the Watsons' parlour.

  
It is wild, raw, animalistic. He stops being anything but a man fucking the woman he loves. Their limbs are entwined, their mouths clash again and again, their tongues diving deep, licking, stroking, dueling. Molly's nails scratch over his back, leaving deep, stinging marks. She keeps asking for more, whispered pants against his wet lips, almost droned out by the slapping sounds of their rutting. She wants him deeper, deeper, wants him to bite her, break skin. He shivers at that, is shocked by the fierceness of her request.  
  
He doesn't do it.

Not this time.

But he sinks his teeth into her neck, lets her feel the strength in his jaw as his tongue licks her skin. The sound she makes only makes him fuck her harder.

He is sweating by now, barely able to breathe. The muscles in his body are tired, yet he can't stop. Doesn't want to stop. His cock is still throbbing and eager, swelling more and more. It's unlike anything he has experienced before. His stones feel heavy, full, so full.

Full of his seed.

Seed he wants to plant deep inside her womb, to claim her in the most primal way possible.

Sherlock grunts at the thought.

"You're mine", he whispers into Molly's ear, his voice dark rumbling like thunder. "Mine to fuck", he slams his cock into her for emphasis. "Mine to breed."  
"Oh God, yes" Molly whimpers and arches her body against his, rubbing her sweaty skin against his, "yes, yes. Sherlock! Breed me. Breed me! Please! I want it so much! Your child! Only yours!"  
"Only mine! My wife. My love...my whore."  
  
It bursts out of him in this delirious state. As soon as he hears the word he is shocked. Never has he used this undeserving title in his mind before. It's not at all what he thinks of her. She's his angel, his love, his heart, his nymph, but never a whore!   
  
He has to apologise!  
  
Just when he wants to, their eyes meet and at the burning desire in her eyes, the words die in his throat.

"Sherlock", she pants and he thrusts harder, harder, deeper.   
Both hands are buried in her hair now as they stare at each other, their hot breaths mingling, clashing against their wet lips.   
"Mine", he breathes, crushing her under his weight.   
"Yes."  
"Say it. Say it!"  
His eyes are burning, this need for her driving him to madness.   
When she doesn't reply instantly, he pulls at her hair.   
"Say it!"  
The nails on his back scratch over his shoulder blades, make him groan.   
"Make me."  
God, this woman.   
This wonderful, divine woman.

With a wolfish growl he bites into her neck and fucks her with all the strength he's got left.

Molly screams when his teeth dig in so deep they almost break skin. Almost.   
She comes then, her body jerking, twitching and quivering, her fanny milking him with hard, merciless pumps. Sherlock couldn't hold back if he wanted to - which he doesn't. With a shout against her throat he slams his cock into her as deep as he can and ejaculates, the feeling pure bliss with Molly's warmth, scent and taste all around him.

This is heaven, right here, on top of her, inside of her, filling her womb with his seed.

_My Molly_

_My wife_

_My love_

_...My sweet little whore_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too soon for such intense passion? Hm. Well, they have waited for each other so long, I think I can get away with it. Must admit, I love that Molly is so sure of her sexuality, so unafraid.
> 
> What do you think? Any constructive criticism is always welcome. :)


	7. Bathing in bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the stormy encounter, husband and wife take a relaxing bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really glad all of you were okay with the passion of last chapter and very flattered it was so well received. Now, a short interlude. :)

Sherlock lets out a long hum as he sinks into the hot water. Not long after he leans back and rests his head on the edge of the tub, his muscles relax. A smile plays around his lips as he feels his body's exhaustion. Hours and hours of fucking will do that. Now he knows what it feels like. It's marvelous. He's never felt so utterly boneless. His blood sings with satisfaction, his limbs feeling pleasantly heavy. His mind is hazy, his usually racing thoughts slow and few. He doesn't think of much else than the hot water, the steam reaching his face, and his beautiful wife in their bedroom, changing the sheets.

Sherlock smiles as he recalls her bright blush when he suggested that Mrs. Hudson could do it.   
"What? No!" she called, completely embarrassed. "There's blood and semen on it, Sherlock. What will she think?"  
"She knows we've been making love, Molly. Heard it, too, most probably."  
"That's bad enough as it is. I will not make her change the sheets and...see the mess we've made."  
"She will see it when she washes them."  
Molly's eyes widened in horror.   
"I'll tell her to throw them out."  
At this point, Sherlock had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him.   
"But darling, these are the sheets of our first night as husband and wife. What of the sentimental value?"  
"You're not sentimental, and neither am I in this case. Say goodbye to these sheets, Mr. Holmes, for you'll never see them again."  
  
Sherlock chuckles at the determination with which Molly has pulled the sheets off the mattress. This beautiful creature, all modesty and purity out in the world, but a naughty little nymph in bed.   
His blood warms as he recalls their first 48 hours as husband and wife and his heart sings with love and satisfaction. It has been more wonderful, more glorious than he could ever have dreamed of. To be with Molly is so freeing. He feels more like himself than ever, has discovered and lived a side of him he has always locked away. To drown in his physical needs hasn't been as frightening as he thought. On the contrary. It is liberating, exhilarating. Something primal in him has been satisfied and in a very odd way it feels like he has grown. He likes this new feeling and his smile stays on his lips until there is a soft knock on the bathroom door.   
"Come in", he says, forcing his tired eyes open. His smile becomes a boyish smirk when his wife steps into the room, closing the door behind her, shedding her dressing gown and dropping it on his. Immediately his eyes roam her petite figure. The countless marks he's left on her don't make him panic anymore. They fill his chest with admittedly ridiculous male pride and satisfaction.

_Mine_

"Come here", he calls her lazily and reaches out for her. With a shy smile she comes to him, takes the outstretched hand. He guides it to his lips, kisses her knuckles, then lets the hand drop and tilts his head. He thought he was satiated, but the longer he looks at her nude, marked body, the warmer his blood gets. Without a word he reaches up, covers her breast with his large hand, massages it, rubs her nipple between index and middle finger until it hardens; he smiles proudly at her and reaches for her other breast.

_Mine_

There is no shyness between them anymore. After their last coupling on the carpet they know their bodies belong to each other. The knowledge that this extraordinary woman is his makes him feel strong and powerful in a very sexual way. He's never felt like this before, always having suppressed his sexuality.   
Now, he revels in it.

Slowly his hand wanders over Molly's warm, soft skin, fingers circling and connecting her bruises. Then he looks deep into her eyes and pushes his hand between her legs without ceremony, his fingers finding her pink cherry blindly by now. Of course her flesh is already wet. She's always ready to take him. A pleasant shiver runs down his spine, straight into his cock.   
"I want to fuck you again, my love. Right here, in the tub. Will you join me? Will you take my cock like the hungry little nymph you are?"  
Ah, profanity. Secretly, he's always loved speaking such filth. Well, thinking it. He's never actually talked so to a woman.

What were the odds that Molly loves it, too?

How much more perfect can they be for each other?

In moments like this, it almost feels too good to be true. Sometimes it feels like he's dreaming this life, that the woman in front of him is the result of his vivid imagination. A smile spreads on his lips as he recalls that Molly feels the same, that she had asked him if this was nothing but a dream once. He had told her not to wake up.   
  
If this is _his_ dream, he doesn't want to wake up, either.

Molly gasps when Sherlock pushes two fingers into her; so hot and wet.   
"Are you sore, darling?"  
She nods.   
"Then we'll wait, my heart. Rest a little more. We have all the time in the world."  
His fingers slip out of her and gently stroke her cherry stone again.   
"But I want you now. I need you inside of me."  
Before he can protest, his wife is climbing into the large tub, careful not to hurt him. She attempts to straddle him, but Sherlock's arms stop her, his wet fingers pushing against her thigh.  
"The other way around, my love. I want to play with your beautiful breasts."  
Molly's eyes shine with desire and she bites her bottom lip, smiling. Sherlock helps her reposition herself, hands holding her by the waist as she slowly lowers herself into the bath water. Her hands are supporting herself on the rim of the tub now, so Sherlock removes one hand from her waist to curl his fingers around his shaft. With gentle pulls and pushes with his other hand he aligns her hot fanny with his cock. Molly trembles and gasps as she takes her husband into her body.   
"Oh."  
Sherlock, eyes blissfully closed, focus completely on the hot tightness engulfing him, needs a moment to interpret the sound of this little 'oh'.   
"All right?" he asks, gently pushing his cock into her, both hands back on her waist. Molly moves with him a couple of times, but then her hand darts back and pushes against his chest.   
"I-it hurts, Sherlock."  
A sting in his heart. It's the first time she says that something he does to her is hurting her. The deeply buried fear explodes in him and he feels quite ill as he sits up.   
"Get up. I'll pull out, Molly. Now."  
He wants to lift her off him, but Molly leans back, pushing him against the tub, and takes his wrists to wrap his arms around her. When she sinks fully onto him and they feel the friction of his cock on her walls, both of them moan.   
"Molly-"  
"No. I need to feel you. Just feel...please."  
Sherlock exhales against her shoulder and buries his head in her long neck; she has pulled up her hair in a simple updo not to get it wet.   
"Of course, darling. I love to be inside you, to feel nothing but you."  
His hand slides down to her abdomen and pubic mound, fingers lightly pressing against it, trying to feel himself inside of her. Even though he doesn't succeed, he spreads his fingers and keeps his hand there as he places loving kisses on her neck and shoulder until Molly rests her check against his.   
"This is wonderfully relaxing. But the tub is a bit small. I'll make sure to order a bigger one for Wimpole Street."  
"Are you planning on taking many baths with your new husband, Mrs. Holmes?"  
"Indeed, I do."  
They chuckle and Molly rubs her cheek against Sherlock's. Her left hand strokes along the arm lying on the edge of the tub, playfully tugging at the little hairs on his forearm on the way, to rest it on his, fingers intertwining, wedding bands clinking together.   
They say nothing for a very long while, both having their eyes closed, relaxing in the warm water. Sherlock's cock softens eventually, yet due to their snug position remains inside his wife. He feels safe and warm and Sherlock dozes off, cheek resting heavily against Molly's.

 


	8. My Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in bed. They'll probably never get out. But there is a new position introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaa, another chapter on the very same day! Since I missed the last two upload-Saturday's it seems only fair. This is a long one, though. Hopefully no one falls asleep. ^^

Waking up with a smile is something that Sherlock has almost gotten used to in the past week. It's her warmth he feels, her petite body aligned with his, the low sound of her relaxed breathing and sometimes a few strands of her hair tickling his nose even before he opens his eyes, before his consciousness has fully returned. If he doesn't feel her skin, his hand reaches out, finding her close by and pulling her to him. Molly always stirs, makes a little hum and gladly returns into his arms.  
Simply wonderful.  
They haven't spent much time outside of their bedroom these past seven days. Making love is still a priority for both of them, both still making up for lost time. Never in his life has Sherlock been happier.  
He stretches like a cat now, letting out a purr, then his hands are searching for his wife; his eyes refusing to open. When he can't find her, his brows furrow.  
"Darling?" he asks huskily, turning over on his side, lifting his head and reluctantly opening his eyes. Sherlock looks around blinking lazily, swallowing the stale taste in his mouth.  
"Molly?" he asks louder now.  
She's not in the room. The bedroom door is ajar.  
While Sherlock is still contemplating if he should get up to find her or go back to sleep, he hears the clutter of porcelain. Footsteps.  
Sherlock grunts.  
  
_Mrs. Hudson._  
  
Three attempts did she make to get them out of bed, trying her most motherly-stern looks on them. He doesn't want to get out of bed, dammit. They are married and on their honeymoon, technically. They don't have to be proper yet, they are still allowed to indulge in their bodies, for heaven's sake.  
But apparently, she has somehow convinced his wife, Sherlock thinks grumpily, curls up into a ball and throws the blanket over his head, taking her pillow with him, pressing it to his face. Molly might be gone, but he still has her scent, he thinks in pouting protest, preparing himself to fight off his housekeeper, who is coming closer and closer with apparently a tray with breakfast things.  
The door creaks open behind him, she enters...then she closes the door. Sherlock frowns into Molly's pillow. The mattress yields on the other side.  
A hand on his arse, gently rubbing.  
What the damn hell?!  
  
_Oh._  
  
Molly's hand. Sherlock smiles and hugs the pillow, then grunts and pushes his backside into her hand.  
"Wake up, darling."  
"Only if you make love to me or come back to bed to be held, otherwise not interested", he mumbles, having deduced that she has no intention to do either.  
"You have to eat."  
He huffs and wraps the blanket around him tighter.  
"In fact, I have to eat. And I'd be very pleased if you would eat with me. See, we don't have to leave this room. I convinced Mrs. Hudson to prepare breakfast and let me do the rest, so I thought we could eat in bed before we change the sheets."  
Sherlock sighs, but sticks his head out of the blanket, black curls being a wild mop of disarray. "Love, these are a lot of words for while I'm still sleeping."  
Molly smiles at him when he turns to look at her. When she gestures at all the good things on the tray at the foot of the bed proudly, he sighs again, but smiles.  
"I'll eat with you _after_ ", he purrs, pulling off the blanket, presenting his morning erection with manly pride, and reaches out to her.   
"After what?" Molly asks cheekily, feigning innocence while her eyes oggle his cock.  
Sherlock catches her hand and pulls her to him roughly. After all these glorious days of fucking his wife, he knows she is not as fragile as he always thought her to be. Though her body is petite, it is strong; which is proved by all the marks he's left on her by now. He uncovers them, untying the knot of his dressing gown she is wearing, unfolding her like a gift. His eyes roam these marks from neck to thigh and the hunger they have appeased last night stirs anew.  
  
Insatiable.  
  
Unashamed by it.  
  
Sherlock greets his wife with a gentle kiss on her lips and a nudge of his nose against hers. She smiles and brushes her fingers through his hair while he lowers his head, kissing the first mark on her throat, right underneath her jaw.  
A strange taste enters his mouth and he leans back, mustering the mark.  
"Did you try to cover my marks, Mrs. Holmes?"  
"Just the ones on the neck. I didn't want to shock Mrs. Hudson."  
Sherlock snorts, rubbing at the mark with his thumb. Now he can see that the other three on her throat and neck are barely visible, either.  
"Believe me, nothing we can do in bed will ever shock this woman. Quite the adventuress in her days."  
"How...? Did you deduce that?"  
He could take credit, but he is preoccupied rubbing the camouflage off her skin to reveal the reds and blues underneath.  
"Unfortunately, Mrs. Hudson likes to share her experiences from time to time."  
Molly laughs.  
"Oh, you poor man."  
"Drove Watson out of the house four times, his face looking quite pale."  
Molly giggles and shakes her head.

Since the sheets will be changed today, Sherlock wipes his fingers on them. Even though the taste of the make-up still lingers, he kisses his marks anyway, finally moving further down her body, kissing all seven love bites on her lovely little breasts. Since her rosewood nipples are already hard and wanting, he spontaneously kisses them, as well, although it's not part of this morning ritual he has developed.  
Molly bites her lower lip as he looks up, kissing the second nipple. They share a smile and his darling wife arches her back a little. Sherlock only shakes his head.

"Patience, darling."

By the time he has kissed the last love bite on the inside of her thigh, Molly's skin is warm, her eyes are dark and her fanny wet with arousal. Sherlock rather smells than sees it, for his wife has demurely covered her sex with her hand as he parted her legs.  
Molly Holmes is evolving into quite a tease. Gone is the last bit of shyness. Last night, God, last night she demanded. Demanded to be fucked just like this, like that. Here. There. Deeper. Faster.  
Sherlock loved every second of it. Even though she has been under him, he has been her servant throughout. He sincerely hopes that it has only been the beginning, that she will be more demanding in the future.  
For now, Sherlock is fine with spoiling his lovely wife every way he knows. So he brushes his lips over her knuckles, smiling up at her.

"Remove your hand."

A cheeky light comes in her eyes and her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink when he sucks lightly at the knuckle of her middle finger, then flicks it with his tongue.  
"Why?" she asks and grins, bending her knees, parting her legs for her husband. Sherlock thanks her with a tender kiss on her inner thigh.  
"You ordered me to eat and, well..."  
He looks at her hand and grins at her, his lips a smug V-shape. Molly giggles, but doesn't give way, yet.  
"Not much of a meal, is it?"  
"Oh, I disagree, my lovely wife. You always feed me plenty."  
"Sherlock", she scolds him now, flushing red and lowering her gaze in embarrassement.  
He chuckles and rains little kisses on her knuckles and fingers.  
"Please, love. My throat is so dry. I'm in dire need of your delicious honey."  
"Stop talking so! It's dirty."  
"Oh, you love it and you know it. Now let me bury my head in your fanny so I can make you cry from sheer pleasure, darling wife."  
Sherlock nudges her hand with his nose and Molly finally gives way. His tongue is plunging into her not a second later and Molly grasps the pillows with a gasp. Pressing his mouth against her wet flesh, he fucks her fast and as deep as he can. They hold eye contact. Observing pleasure washing over Molly, the flames of lust dancing in her eyes, her lovely breasts bouncing as her breathing flattens is as beautiful as it is arousing.  
  
He makes her peak and she cries. The tears are still coming after climax, sometimes in the mids of it. After seeing it so many times, Sherlock has become more or less used to it. His heart has finally understood that it is a purely physical reaction, that he has done no harm, that these are happy tears. Often now she smiles while she sheds them, her body trembling, her arms reaching out for him.  
Sherlock can't see if she is smiling now, for she has buried her face in his pillow, sobbing into it. Soothingly Sherlock is stroking her heaving belly while his head is trapped between her squeezing thighs. The pressure against his head feels wonderful, drowning in her honey and smell is marvelous. He's almost sorry when she releases him, but her fingers stroking through his hair appease him instantly. A shiver rushes down his skalp as her nails lightly scratch him. With closed eyes and a hum he kisses her wet lips, then starts licking her labia with lazy, relishing strokes.  
"Oh love, you're so very good to me", Molly whispers and watches him between her legs.  
"Purely selfish, I assure you. I can't get enough of your sweet, sweet taste. I could spend an entire day between your legs, my love, and wish for nothing more than your honey in my mouth and your moans in my ears."  
"You are truly poetic this morning, husband."  
Sherlock grins against her lips, then carefully nips at them.  
"May I have this day, darling? I want to stay right here."  
Molly bites her lip as Sherlock uses the flat side of his tongue to slide through her wet flesh slowly, scooping up more honey, showing off his wet lips and his throat as he swallows it.

"God, Sherlock."

Molly sits up and grabs his face. She takes possession of his mouth and Sherlock lets out a deep groan when her little tongue spears into his mouth to lick her fluids off his tongue and lips.  
"No man should be so beautiful", she pants hoarsely against his mouth. Her eyes are burning into his. "So very beautiful."  
With surprising strength she hurls him around, flat on his back. The porcelain on the tray by the edge of the bed clatters. Sherlock blinks in surprise, staring up at her as she straddles him.  
"Molly", he pants, a desperate hunger taking hold of him.  
She looks glorious on top of him, her beautiful marked body arched, the lovely breasts bobbing as she settles her weight on him. Their sexes make contact and both of them moan. Sherlock's hands fly to her waist, grab it hard.

"Yes, God, yes. My glorious nymph", he babbles as she rubs her hot, wet flesh on him frantically. His hands help her roll her hips, finding a rhythm both enjoy.  
"Take me, love. Take me inside. I need to be inside you."  
It seems Molly is lost in another sphere. Her head is tilted forward, her thick long hair cascading down her moving body. She is staring at him with parted lips, one hand pressed over his heart, but her brown eyes lack every sense. Too lost in this new sensation she is, too hungry to stop.  
  
His nymph can be selfish, too, but Sherlock would never hold it against her.  
  
Instead he jolts up and wraps his arms around her, ignores her protesting whimper when he grabs her arse and lifts her. She is as light as a faerie in his arms, he thinks as one hand hastily fumbles for his cock, grabs it and positions it at her entrance. Then he lets her fall and impales her.  
Molly squeals, her forehead bumping against his.  
"Sherlock, Sherlock", she chants his name, her tone begging.  
Sherlock shakes his head.  
"No, love. You're on top now. You're in command."  
Her eyes widen at his purred words, as if she's only realising it now.  
Sherlock places a hand in her neck and makes sure she's looking into his eyes as he speaks.  
"Fuck me, Molly. Take your pleasure from me."  
He kisses her softly, lingering on her warm, soft lips.  
  
"Let me serve you, my Queen."  
  
At this, she smiles and cups his face with both hands.  
"I like the sound of that", she confesses with a giggle and kisses his lips ever so tenderly.  
Gently she pushes him backwards and he gladly lies down. Molly follows him, not breaking the kiss. Sherlock enfolds her in his arms and for a while they remain like this, him holding her in his arms, hands stroking her back while they kiss, their tongues curling around each other in his mouth, no rush, just tenderness. All the while Molly is still palming his face and her thumbs are stroking his high cheekbones.  
Sherlock feels so very safe and loved right now. To have her above him, to be inside her while she caresses him so softly is beyond wonderful.  
"I love you so much, Sherlock."  
It's a mere whisper against his lips, but her words echo within him loudly, filling his heart. He opens his eyes and immediately drown in her deep brown pools.  
"I love you, too, Molly mine."  
Molly smiles and his heart skips a beat. So very lovely, his wife. He is one lucky man.  
As he brushes a strand of hair out of her face, his free hand brushes over the smooth skin on her back and gently cups her arse cheek. Not letting go of her eyes he squeezes, takes a hold on her, and gently starts to push into her. It's more important to feel her all around him than to get some friction, so he pulls her down as he pushes up, entering her as deep as he can. When Molly gasps, he stills his hips, keeps his cock right there where it pleases her.

"Like this, my Queen?" he whispers softly.

Molly's eyes flutter close. Then her muscles clench around him. Sherlock bites his bottom lip and tries to bury himself even deeper in his wife.  
"Does it feel good, darling wife? Can you feel me? Feel how deep inside you I am?"  
Molly lets out a raspy breath and rests her foreheard against his. She's massaging him now and it feels fantastic.  
"Talk to me, my Queen. Don't shut me out. Please."  
She opens her eyes, eyelids heavy. Her cheeks are flushing a deep red as she looks at him with parted lips, thumb stroking his cheekbone.  
  
"I...I want to ride you, Sherlock", she admits almost frightened.  
  
There is something in her eyes that worries him. Soothingly he combs his fingers through her beautiful hair.  
"I would love that", he whispers and presses a chaste, lingering kiss on her lips. "Do you think I wouldn't?"  
She rests her weight on him, looks down at her fingers wandering through his chest hair.  
"...My aunt said it's disrespectful."  
Sherlock snorts out a laugh, he can't help himself.  
"Letting a man lean back and enjoy his wife bouncing on top of him, doing all the work? If anything, it's spoiling the husband."  
Molly bites her lip.  
"Tell me if it doesn't please you."  
She attempts to sit up, but Sherlock places a hand on her back and pulls her back down.  
"Darling. Everything we do in our bed pleases me. Fucking you, licking you, you riding me, it all pleases me. _You_ please me. I love everything you do to me and everything you let me do to you."  
  
He smirks, his hand back on her arse, massaging her cheek. It makes her smile. After a lingering kiss and a gentle stroke with her tongue, Molly sits up.  
  
"You look glorious, darling", Sherlock praises her with dreamy eyes, his hands roaming over her front, cupping her breasts. "My valkyrie."  
Molly giggles, takes his hands and puts them on her hips.  
"Your sheer endless amount of mythological female figures you call me never seizes to amaze me", she comments and runs her hands down his front, using her nails.  
When she circles his navel with her index finger, his hips jerk up and the hold on her hips tighten.  
"Please", he breathes, staring at where their bodies are united.  
Molly clenches her muscles and Sherlock marvels at the beauty of the female sex, how wonderful it feels to be inside it, completely engulfed.

Nothing compares to this feeling; to feel nothing but Molly's heat, her slick walls, to become a part of her body. It makes him feel complete and so very safe.   
  
By stroking his cheek, Molly claims Sherlock's attention. Their gazes lock and Molly smiles shyly as she sees the doubtlessly smitten expression in her husband's eyes.

Finally, the first roll of her hips. Sherlock's mouth falls open, Molly's breath hikes. She repeats the movement, her expression turning to one of concentration. She is completely focused on his cock inside of her, tries to find out how to get the most pleasure out of this position.  
It's interesting and fun to watch her, Sherlock thinks, removing his hands as she circles them. He wants her to be entirely free in her movement so he drops them on the sheet, thumbs gently stroking her knees so she knows he does enjoy her experiments.  
Molly is thorough in this as in everything else she does, moves her hips and legs, tries out rolls and lifts and circling motions, leans forwards, backwards. He slips out of her a few times and every time she blushes.

The first few times he takes his cock and guides it back inside, but after it happened again, he looks at her.  
  
"Do you want to try it?"  
  
So far, she hasn't touched his cock that often. Which is mostly his fault. He just loves it too much, is driven too quickly when she strokes him with her hand. To watch her hand, to watch her watch her hand, God, it's so bloody erotic. Of course he'd love for her to do it again, but he prefers to come inside her. And once her elegant hand wraps around him, he just doesn't have the strength to pull it away and she doesn't stop until he is all spent on his belly.  
  
However, this is not about giving him pleasure. This is about her taking her own. He wants to give her confidence so that blush on her cheeks vanishes.  
Molly bites her bottom lip and looks at his cock. It's wet with her arousal and for a second he thinks she'd rather not touch it in this state. But then her hand slowly reaches out, curls around his base.  
  
Ah, the pleasure of her hand.  
  
He puffs out a breath, his eyes flutter close momentarily. She is stroking him, oh goodness. Forcing his eyes open he looks at her, smiles and gives her an encouraging nod.  
"Go ahead, love", he says softly and strokes her hipbone with his thumb.  
With a nod she looks down and lifts herself up on her knees. The free hand comes to rest on his chest as she tries to guide him inside of her. His head slides through her wet flesh and this pleasure is only increased by the sight of her.  
There is some fumbling, then she angles her hips just right and his tip pushes against her entrance. She lowers herself, his head breaches her muscle, but then she retreats.  
"Am I hurting you?"  
Oh, this wonderful woman. His marvelous, sensual wife.  
"No, darling", he whispers and, steadying her hips with both hands, he pushes into her from below. The hand on his cock falls to his chest and she moans. Sherlock closes his eyes and pushes, needing friction or he'll run mad.  
  
Eventually, Molly starts pushing back, then lowers her weight on him, pressing his arse back into the mattress. Her little hands run up his chest and Sherlock opens his eyes.  
Their gazes lock as Molly starts riding him, with slow, elegant rolls of her hips.  
"You're so beautiful", Sherlock can't help but whisper at the sight of her. His hands curl around her creamy thighs and he just watches her making love to him.

Soon, she loses herself. Her eyes fall close and her lips part, sweet gasps and moans falling from them. The muscles in her thighs flex and she increases her rhythm, more and more. The love-bitten breasts start bouncing and when Molly throws back her hair and exposes her neck, Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut.

She's just too beautiful. It hurts to look at her.  
  
He wants to be blinded by her beauty.

As his wife takes him fast and determined, calves shoved beneath his thighs for a stronger hold, Sherlock is overwhelmed with the pleasure he finds in this position. The nails digging in his chest, to watch Molly's beautiful body arch and rise, her breasts bouncing, calling his mouth, her weight on his hips, the friction, the new depths he reaches with her on top; it's glorious, erotic and it feels fucking fantastic.  
Lost in pleasure he starts babbling again, begging her to take him, calling her names, moaning his love and adoration until he feels his stones tightening, feels how he swells even more inside of her.  
"Molly, I'm close", he pants, grabbing her waist to make her stop.  
"Me too", Molly pants and pries his hand off her hip and presses it against her breast.  
"Please, please", she moans and with a husky growl he cups both her breasts, squeezes them firmly before he pulls at her nipples, twists them. He might be too rough. His hands are shaking, burning lust is flowing through his veins. Molly squeals when he pulls again and that sound drives him insane.  
"God, Molly, Molly!"  
Sherlock shoots up and slings his arms around her, bites into her neck and grabs her hair, all in one fluid motion. And then he peaks, intensely, gloriously, his vision leaving him as he feels his seed shooting out of him and into the woman he adores.

So lost is he in the climax that he doesn't know if she has peaked, too. Panting hard he leans back to look at her, brushes her hair out of her face. When he sees the tears streaming down her face, he lets out a breath of relief.  
"I love you so much, my darling", he whispers and for the next minute he showers her in kisses and tender strokes up and down her back.  
To his surprise, Molly doesn't stop quivering. Gasp after gasp follow the little trembles of her body. She is sweating and panting, her eyes are unfocused, so Sherlock gently lays her down on her back. Only then does he carefully pull out, her walls still clenching. Lying down next to her, he keeps stroking her face as he waits for her to come out of it. He is kissing her forehead when she does and she tilts up her head, his lips sliding down her nose to catch her lips for a kiss.  
"Where have you been?" Sherlock asks against her lips, unable to hide his smile.  
"Some place wonderful", she replies and sinks against him, wrapping an arm around his torso.  
Sherlock pulls her even closer and starts playing with the strands of her hair.  
"It was heaven, having you on top of me", he whispers into her hair.  
A kiss is planted on his throat.  
"In the beginning I felt clumsy and foolish."  
"I loved the beginning just as much as everything else. It was fascinating to watch you experiment on me."  
Molly giggles and rubs her face on his throat.  
"I need a bath."  
"Hmm, mind if I join you?"  
"No, but first we eat."  
Sherlock sighs. "Fine."

The breakfast is cold and horrible, but the bath with his wife makes up for it handsomely. Molly's skin feels exquisite when wet.

 


	9. The end of a marvelous honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally leave the bed.

Ever so slowly, Sherlock buttons up his shirt, staring in the looking glass, watching how he covers up Molly's four love bites, three on his chest, one above his belly button. After 20 days of being mostly naked, wearing clothes feels wrong. And seeing Molly fully dressed including purple jacket, hat and white kid gloves is simply tragic. All of her soft, delicious skin hidden away under linen and cotton. All of his marks invisible to his greedy eyes.   
Sherlock sighs again and reaches for his cravat.  
"This is the fifth time you're sighing. We're not going to a funeral, darling."  
Molly steps up behind him. Their eyes meet in the looking glass, a little smirk plays around her lips.   
"It's the funeral of our honeymoon."  
Her smile brightens her eyes. She reaches around him, places her hands on chest and belly and pulls him to her. Resting her cheek on his arm, she watches him bind his cravat.   
"It's been a wonderful honeymoon."  
His heart skips a beat and the skin underneath her little hands warms. Sherlock takes one of her hands and places it over his heart. Their eyes melt together as they share the sweetest memories.   
"Yes, it was, my darling wife."  
Molly nuzzles her cheek against his arm and Sherlock simply has to hug her. He turns and pulls her against him. Sturdiness against his front. Another sigh.   
"You're wearing a corset", Sherlock whines and rest his forehead against hers.   
"We're going out, love, of course I am."  
"I hate corsets."  
"So you keep saying", Molly giggles.   
Sherlock pulls her closer. Her breath is warm and makes his lips tingle with desire.   
"I want to stay home. I want us to remain in bed for the rest of our lives and make love."  
"Darling..."  
  
Sherlock silences her with a kiss. Placing a hand on her neck, he parts her lips with his tongue and slips in between, teasing hers until she sighs into his mouth and melts against him.   
He turns them around and pushes her against the wall next to the looking glass. Trapping her there with his chest and his kiss, he reaches down and starts gathering up her skirts and her bustle cage.   
"What are you doing?" Molly pants as she gasps for air.   
"I want to fuck my wife", Sherlock growls and nips at her bottom lip, "my beautiful, enticing wife, with her sweet, wet fanny. Always so wet for me."  
Molly pants his name against his lips and kisses him hard, spearing her tongue into his mouth and stroking his demandingly.   
As soon as he has exposed her lower half, Molly gasps again.   
"Oh, this is so naughty of us, Sherlock."  
  
Impatient now, she reaches down and hastily opens his trousers. They both look down, watch her hands, their hurried hot breaths mingling. Finally her little gloved hand wraps around his shaft, already big and hot and so ready to claim her. Sherlock groans at the unfamiliar sensation of the rough fabric on his cock and presses his forehead against hers. Those two seconds it takes to free him feel like agony. But then she lets go and he looks at his throbbing cock and her split drawers, the dark bush lurking through.   
"Hold your skirts", he instructs her with a rough voice and as soon as she does he bends down, grabs her lovely arse and lifts her up.   
Knocking the air out of her he shoves her against the wall and eagerly pushes against her, searching for her entrance.   
Molly is on eye-level now and they stare at each other, her eyes so dark and wanton it sets his entire body on fire.

Unfortunately, his cock slips through her wet folds rather clumsily, not managing to find his goal.   
"Molly", Sherlock pants needily and his wife understands.  
"Oh my God", she breathes and nuzzles his face with hers before she looks down and grabs his cock once more.   
To see her bite her lip in concentration as she tries to manoveur his cock into her fanny is even more arousing. It takes longer than both can stand so when his head finally pushes against her entrance, Sherlock slams it into her as soon as she lets go of him.   
Rutting into his fully dressed wife, he stares at the woman he loves more than anything.   
"You feel so good," he whispers breathlessly, "your fanny feels so fucking good around me, Molly. My darling. My wife."  
Moaning lustfully, Molly throws back her head. Her hat falls off, her updo gets ruined the more her skull gets pushed up and down the wall. With every thrust she changes more and more back into the little nymph Sherlock knows and loves.   
"You're so deep, Sherlock. So big. God!"  
Her hand grabs his hair, freeing his curls from the pomade. Her muscles squeeze him, try to suck him further into her body.   
  
Breathlessly they kiss, their tongues licking sloppily, hungrily.

Molly is so wet, hot and tight. It makes Sherlock's blood boil, he grunts and shoves his cock into her again and again, the friction and slickness of her fanny driving him to planes filled with lust and hunger. He wants to feel her hot skin against his, wants to devour her pretty breasts with his eyes, wants to suckle her nipples until she squeals those little sounds of pure delight.   
  
He hates that they are dressed, yet at the same times it fuels his arousal. Molly is right, this feels so naughty, fucking whilst fully dressed in clothes they will keep wearing when they go visit his parents for a family dinner with Mrs. Hooper and his brother and his wife.   
To think that his seed will drip out of her and into her underskirt while they sit at the dinner table - Sherlock groans and buries his face in her neck. He inhales her comforting jasmine scent greedily and sucks a patch of skin under her ear hard into his mouth.

When his teeth drive into her skin, Molly comes with several loud, wanton groans. The sound is heaven and her milking fanny sends him into it.   
Moaning widly against her throat he pushes into his wife as deep as he can and ejaculates, shivering all over at the feeling.

Molly is twitching in his arms, her orgasm never seems to end. She gets heavier in his arms as pleasure leaves her. Sherlock is there to hug her tight when she starts crying, wetting his throat with her tears and her open mouth.   
Again and again she whispers his name, her legs still twitching occasionally as well as her channel.

Sherlock soothes her with gentle kisses and carefully lowers her back onto her feet. His wife lets out a gasp when he slips out of her and sinks back against the wall, her skirts and the bustle cage falling down her legs. When her eyes find his, a jolt rushes through him. They look so soft and pleading that he instantly rushes forward and gathers her in his arms. As Molly lifts her head he leans down to kiss her softly.   
"I love you", he whispers against her lips and kisses her again.   
Countless terms of endearment fall from his mouth as he uses his full lips to give the tenderness she so obviously needs right now. They brush along her jaw, her forehead, her cheeks. Ever so softly does he kiss both her closed eyelids, then the tip of her beloved pixie nose, then her mouth.

"Are you very angry with me?" he finally asks, his fingers stroking her neck, giving her goosebumps.   
She only shakes her head and looks up at him. He catches her last tear with his thumb and wipes it away.   
"I'm just annoyed that I have to do my hair now. Anna does it much better."  
"Then ask her."  
She blushes and shakes her head, biting her bottom lip.   
"It was very naughty of us", Sherlock confirms her inital statement, but shamelessly smiles down at her.   
"Naughty of you, Mr. Holmes. I was merely a dutiful wife."  
Not having any of that, Sherlock catches her bottom lip between his teeth and nips at it, leaving it red.   
"You were a wanton little nymph craving your husband and you know it."  
Before she can protest he captures her mouth. They melt together for a deep kiss, their hunger for each other still lingering on their slowly stroking tongues.   
  
"Let's stay home", Sherlock begs once more.   
He wants her naked, in bed, the entire night.   
"No, Sherlock. I won't decline our first invitation as a married couple, and at such short notice. It's horribly rude and I won't have it."  
Letting out a heavy sigh, Sherlock sinks against her and rests his forehead against hers.   
"Fine", he gives in and breathes her scent, enjoys the warmth of her skin on his face.   
Her gloved hand comes up to stroke his cheek.   
"It will be over sooner than you think and then we'll be home, alone, in our bed again. And your dutiful wife will give you so much pleasure you won't be able to remember your name."  
His eyes fly open at this.   
"Promise", he insists with new vigour and a widening smile on his lips.   
"I promise, darling."  
Happy now, he hugs her, lifts her up and carries her up to John's old room where her dressing table is, all the way stealing kiss after kiss from his wife's giggling lips.

 


	10. The deepest fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly go to the family dinner. Something is off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after 9 chapters. there is a plot. Angsty, I'm afraid. Tell me when you're ready to go back to making love.
> 
> WARNING: Mentionings of child loss.

The family dinner is actually not as dull as expected. Anthea, normally more of a silent woman, is quite chatty with Molly, asking her countless questions about Wimpole Street and Molly's plans with it. Both his and Molly's mother soon join in and the men sit mutely at the table, enjoying the happy chirping of their wives.

"It seems even Anthea can't resist Molly's charms", is Mycroft's comment as he joins Sherlock by the fire place in the parlor. The new husband follows his brother's look to where Molly and Anthea are standing bent over his father's desk, Molly drawing the layout of Wimpole Street. The ladies are still discussing the interior design, currently of the master bathroom.  
"I think even the devil would succumb to her cheerful smile and her warm eyes", Sherlock replies. Mycroft only nods, nipping at his brandy.  
There is a hard line around his mouth and Sherlock can't help but grin.  
"You had a row again."  
Mycroft presses his lips together, annoyed he's been found out.  
"More of an argument."  
"About what?"  
Mycroft hesitates, then turns his back to the women.  
"Children."  
Sherlock stiffens.

It's a tough topic. 

  
The brothers have never talked about it, but Mummy has confided in him, told him everything against his will. Back then, the story hasn't caused a reaction. After falling in love and marrying the woman of his life, Sherlock's heart feels a deep affliction at his brother's and sister-in-law's pain.  
"She's a tigress, Mycroft. She'll never give up."  
There is sadness in his brother's eyes and for a second Sherlock feels it as if it was his own.  
"I know. Every time she's late she starts hoping, only to be disappointed again...Whereas I am only relieved."

Anthea has already lost two of his children, very early in the pregnancy. If Mummy hadn't told him, Sherlock would have never known. Not once did Anthea's eyes give her pain away. That woman has a strength in her which has deeply impressed him.  
"I understand", Sherlock says.

And he really does.  
  
If Molly would lose her child twice, he'd rather stop trying altogether than put her through this again.  
  
  
There is a long silence between the brothers. Sherlock dares to watch his brother's face as he stares into the flames.  
"It could be us", Mycroft eventually says, his voice low enough only for Sherlock to hear.  
"We're abnormal. Eurus was mentally ill."  
Sherlock's heart clenches. The older brother that loved his little sister beyond measure wants to defend her, but his mouth won't speak.  
Mycroft's blue eyes rise to his.  
"Don't let her have her way, Sherlock. If she loses your child...insist on protection. Her anger is easier to endure than her pain."  
Sherlock swallows hard. His eyes dart to the back of his wife and the worries he already has for her are attacking him tenfold.  
  
"Then why don't _you_ insist?" he asks, his voice sounding hoarse.  
  
Mycroft's jaw clenches. He stares back into the flames. Another pause in which pain and fear cross his face. It is so incredibly unsettling for Sherlock to see this. His entire world feels less safe if his brother is afraid.  
"I'm not like you. I'm not soft enough to hold her affection if I deny her this wish."  
Sherlock frowns.  
"Do you really believe this to be true?"  
Mycroft takes a deep breath, exhales it through his nose.  
"Anthea loves you. She fought for you, never gave up on you even though you were a cold-hearted prick."  
Scolding eyes dart up to him, but Sherlock stares back at them, not caring about his sodding language now.  
"Duty-"  
"It had nothing to do with duty", Sherlock interrupts him impatiently. "She saw you, Mycroft. Hidden under all the ice. Just like Molly saw me. I know now what it feels like...to be in her arms, to be held and loved."  
Mycroft's eyes begin to shine.  
  
"We are loved, Mycroft. Everything in us we call weakness, every fault we think we have...these parts of us are loved."  
  
To Sherlock's great surprise, Mycroft's bottom lip trembles and he closes his eyes momentarily.

Can it be?

Can the strongest Holmes truly be the most tender hearted?

"I will not lose her", he states firmly, his voice full of conviction.  
"But you're afraid that you are starting to. That's why you came to me."  
  
Now Sherlock understands. Their parents don't understand what their children feel inside. They never were able to understand how their fast minds work, they never understood the fear not to be loved due to being different. Even though Mycroft and Sherlock are different characters, they share this fear, deep down. To love and not to be loved in return, to be alone, never knowing comfort.

Sherlock understands his brother, knows that Mycroft is afraid to lose all that Anthea has given him. He might be a hard man in the eyes of the world, but his heart is yearning for affection just as strongly as Sherlock's.

"Talk to her. Really talk to her. Let her see it in your eyes. She might not agree, but she will understand. She needs to understand that you fear for her health."  
"What else could it be?"  
"That you don't think she's strong enough, that you think she's less worthy as a woman, a wife. Maybe she's afraid _you'll_ leave _her_ , just as you are afraid she will leave you."  
  
Mycroft straightens, his mind racing, his eyes empty as he retreats into his mind palace, doubtlessly remembering their fight in detail.  
Then the light returns to his eyes and he puts his glass on the mantle of the fireplace and without a word whirls around.  
Sherlock watches him hurry to his wife.

"Darling", he says ever so softly and touches her arm. Anthea straightens and husband and wife share a look. Anthea frowns, then for the first time ever Sherlock sees her eyes tear up.  
With a polite goodbye to Molly she takes her husband's arm and lets him guide her out of the parlor, their eyes never leaving each other.

Sherlock can't help but wishing his brother luck as he watches them leave.  
  
"What was that about?" Molly asks as she steps next to him.  
He only shakes his head and tries a smile, now realising that his own eyes are teary. Gently he takes his beloved in his arms, pulls her against him and rests his forehead against hers.  
"Are you all right, Sherlock?"  
Her tender hands cup his face and he pulls her closer, his heart aching with fear to lose her.  
"No," he croaks and nuzzles her cheek with his nose, "please, let's go home. I need to hold you."  
  
He meets her confused brown eyes. Her thumbs stroke his cheeks as she searches his eyes for an explanation.  
"Very well", she says in the end and gives him a soft, lingering kiss that is warm and soothing.  
"I'll say goodbye to your parents and ask mother to get ready to leave. You can wait in the carriage."  
He nods gratefully and strokes her cheek before she leaves his embrace.

  
Sherlock holds Molly's hand for the entire duration of the drive, first to Mrs. Hooper's house, then home to Baker Street. He can feel Molly's mother's eyes on him, but he is unable to look anywhere else but his wife's hand and her wedding ring on her index finger.

  
  


Once they're home, Sherlock pulls her along to the bedroom, where he undresses her and himself. Both naked they climb into bed and Sherlock pulls her into his arms, closer, closer, until she is flush against him and he can feel her heartbeat against his own.  
He combs his fingers through her hair, kisses her forehead, breathes in her scent. His heart feels lighter now that he holds her in his arms, her warmth enfolding him, her soft skin against his own.  
"Sherlock," Molly finally whispers, her hands returning to his face to stroke him, "you're frightening me. Talk to me."  
Instead, he nuzzles her face with his own.  
  
"I love you", he whispers against her warm cheek.  
"I love you, too", Molly whispers back, still confused.  
"I can't bear the thought of losing you", he admits, not looking at her.  
"You'll never lose me", she ensures him and gently pulls at his jaw to make him look at her. He tilts his head, but his eyes remain fixed on her mouth.  
"Talk to me", Molly urges again.

That's when he tells her about Mycroft and Anthea, his voice merely a whisper. First, it feels like betraying Mycroft's confidence, but then he remembers his urgent plead and is reassured that he wouldn't mind. His big brother wants them to be happy and Molly to be safe.  
"Mycroft is right", he breathes against her lips, "there might be a defect in our blood. I might not be able to give you a child...I might endanger you by giving you one."  
"Sherlock-"  
His eyes dart up and his hand cups her cheek.  
"I want to have children with you, Molly. But not at all costs. More than anything I want _you_. I can't do without you. I need you."  
His eyes tear up.  
"I'm not strong enough to see you suffer, you know I'm not. So please, if we face the same problems as Mycroft and Anthea, please don't insist on keep on trying."

His eyes are hot, his vision is blurry. There is a fire burning in the fire place, but they are so close he can't see the look in her eyes.  
  
No reply.  
  
Sherlock hears her flat breathing, feels it on his lips. Her heartbeat is strong and fast against his. The hands on his face have stilled. No more caresses.  
The fear in his heart intensifies, it feels like she's slipping through his fingers. He pulls her closer, whispers her name, but she is so still in his arms. It scares him to death. 

Desperate now, he whispers, his lips close to hers: 

"If I can't give you a child, then another might be able to. I want you to be happy. I will never question...I will accept your child with open arms and an open heart...whether it's mine or not...I will give them my name gladly, proudly...it will be ours, if not by blood but by love...I will love them just as much...I won't care...All I want is you. Please, Molly, please...don't go-"

"Stop! Stop!"

Molly's urgent voice silences him. Her hands firmly cup his face and pull it back.  
"Look at me. Look at me!"  
A tear falls when he does look up. Molly is crying silent tears, as well. Her big brown eyes stare at him for a long time. In his distress, he can't read their expression.  
  
"Do you really love me so much?" she whispers eventually.  
Sherlock's bottom lip trembles. Her thumb strokes his cheek.  
"God, Sherlock..."  
Molly pulls him to her, beds his face on her chest. He buries it between her breasts and hugs her tight, battling his fears. Resting her cheek on top of his still pomaded hair, she gently strokes his back. The steady rhythm of her hand and the beat of her heart slowly calms him down. Sherlock breathes in her scent, the weight of her small breasts so very comforting. They are so soft, so warm. He never wants to leave.

Only when he relaxes against her and shyly begins to caress her back with his fingers does she speak.  
"I don't want a child if it can't be yours, Sherlock. The vows I took when I married you a sacred to me. I would never betray you, even with your permission. I...that you would allow it just to make me happy..."  
A long kiss is placed on his forehead. 

"I love you so much", she whispers against his skin. "If we can't have a family, we will still have each other, Sherlock. For the rest of our lives. I will never leave you. You are my haven, my heart, my husband. There is nowhere in the world I'd rather be than by your side. You are mine and I am yours. I don't want it any other way."  
  
They cling to each other for a long while, unable to let go. 

"Should I lose our first child," Molly eventually continues, "we will stop trying if you wish it. All I need to be happy is you, Sherlock."  
Sherlock nods, relieved and sad. 

No matter what will happen, he solemnly swears to himself, he will find a way to make Molly happy, to give her everything she wishes.

 

It's the first night since their wedding night they don't make love. Both of them lie awake for a long while, gently stroking each other, lost in their own thoughts and yet holding on to each other.

Neither of them will let go.

Ever.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> No consumation, yet. The newlyweds want to take their time. But I must admit, rarely have I enjoyed writing smut so much. And I am quite proud of Molly's first hand job. *giggles*


End file.
